


Held in trust

by PlainJane



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bonding, Complete, Consensual, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Omega John, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Sherlock Series 2 Spoilers, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlainJane/pseuds/PlainJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John believed he would never have an alpha. Sherlock knew he could never keep an omega. Seventeen years is a long time to wait to learn just how wrong you can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Expectation

**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned by, and based on a prompt from, [jonnyluvssherlock](http://jonnyluvssherlock.tumblr.com/), for the Dashcon Author Auction. Thanks to [wearitcounts (Sher_locked_up)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sher_locked_up) for being an awesome beta!
> 
> This probably should have been a 5,000 word PWP--naturally, I got completely carried away. Hope you enjoy it anyway :D

“Watson? You still with us, mate?”

“Sorry?” John blinked several times and scratched absent-mindedly at the skin on his forearms.

“Where did you drift off to?”

John looked around the table from his lab partner, Mike Stamford, to the other four members of their St. Bart’s medical school student cohort. “I — sorry. I don’t know. I’m just having trouble concentrating today. No idea why.” He fidgeted, suddenly restless. 

Mike stood and pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. He straightened his tie and tried to tuck his striped button-down back into his trousers over the slight ring of pudge that had started to form since he’d met his girlfriend, Jenn (a charming law student). John watched as the good-natured beta exchanged a look with the group. Simone — the only alpha among them — eyed John with more than a little appreciation and then winked at Mike. Dylan, Raj and Fan chuckled a little.

“What?” John asked, puzzled. He scowled at the group’s other three betas who continued to titter.

“ _We_ know why,” Mike replied gently. He clapped a hand against John’s shoulder. “I’ll call your father to come pick you up and wait with you until he comes, yeah?”

“My father…not my dad? Pick me up? Why?” John stood, balancing the books Mike was patiently handing to him. John looked around at his friends. “God, was I exposed to something at the student-run clinic last week?”

“No, you dozy donkey. You need to go home because you’re going into heat,” Simone offered. She twisted a ginger curl around her finger. “Congratulations!”

“But…now?”

“Right now,” Mike assured him. “This is exciting, really. You know I’ve never been friends with an omega before. Certainly haven’t been anywhere near one as they approached their first heat and bonding call.”

“Right,” John muttered, taking a moment to pay some attention to the symptoms he must have been ignoring all day. The mild cramping in his belly that he’d been chalking up to the highly questionable sausage roll he’d rescued from the refrigerator (in the flat he shared with three other students during term) was only just beginning to become uncomfortable. “Right. I guess I must have lost track. It’s been so long.”

Mike tsked. “Now, now. Twenty isn’t so bad. And didn’t your A/O counsellor tell you this was a common indicator of a younger bond mate?”

“Hmmm?” John shook his head, once again a little fuzzy. “What? Oh, yes, of course, yeah. That’s what he said. So…I guess this means my mate is now of age. Or, or — god, when did it get so hot in here?”

“Time to go!”

John stumbled as Mike attempted to drag him toward the library’s main entrance. “Wait! I-I’ll be off for a bit. I should probably just confirm with my advisor before I go.”

Simone hooted. “Watson, she knows! She’s had your bonding plan in place since you registered. You need to get out of here before you really start to smell good. You know how jealous my Greta is.” Her expression softened. “Don’t worry about anything. We’ll all help you revise when you get back. Won’t we guys?”

The rest of the study group nodded in unison.

“So just get out of here and go find your mate,” Simone said finally. “And for goodness’ sake, enjoy it!”

John nodded dumbly, feeling a little overwhelmed and not at all in control of his body. But it was not altogether unpleasant. Warmth had begun to build in his pelvis, and there was a lovely sort of tingling at the base of his skull. 

He’d been told about this, of course, but somehow it was even better than he had been led to believe.

He smiled to himself as he allowed Mike to lead him out onto the pavement and to the nearest phone box. He waited patiently as his friend called the Watson house, entertaining himself with the speculations he’d abandoned since he’d missed his first heat at 16: What would his mate be like?

He was still dwelling on a half-formed fantasy of dark curls and fair skin when Mike hung up.

“As luck would have it, your father is in town today. Your dad is paging him now. He should be here in a few minutes.”

John hummed his agreement. Mike leaned against the phone box beside him, a searching expression on his face.

“John, do you mind me asking…?”

“What?”

“What’s it like?” Mike whispered. “I mean, really. We’ve all read the books and seen that ridiculous film in school, and I understand the biochemistry involved, but I know there must be more to it than that.”

“Dunno how to describe it, really. It feels…safe? And yet like the most incredibly dangerous thing I’ve ever done.” He lifted his wrist so his friend and fellow future doctor could take his pulse. “My heart rate is elevated, and I do think my blood pressure is actually low. I have the most amazing feeling that everything is exactly as it should be.”

“Are you worried?”

“About?”

“Well, your parents are a male-male A/O pair bond, but your father is a relatively progressive alpha.”

John shrugged. “My dad has written some stuff into the bond contract, to make sure I get to finish my education.” He considered this for a moment. “There are more and more alphas like my father out there. Look at Simone. She and Greta bonded at 16, right on schedule, but Greta is still at uni, too. They decided to wait to have children.”

“Do you want kids?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I guess it will just depend on my mate. What he or she is like, what they want.”

Mike sighed, glancing up as he spotted Dr. Timothy Watson’s car. “Well, I can’t say I’m not a little bit jealous. Nothing wrong with being a beta, of course, but there is something so powerful about the whole A/O bond call; the biological imperative of it.”

The silver Mercedes pulled to stop in the passenger loading zone and a tall, thin blond man emerged. He rushed to John, glancing around for any potential alpha threats.

“Michael, thank you for calling.” Dr. Watson tugged a languid John into his arms and directed him toward the car. “Come on, son,” he said gently. “Let’s get you home safe.”

Mike waved as they sped away, not really expecting his friend to wave back.

_____________________________

Two hours later, John sat on the end of his bed wrapped in the fluffy new robe his dad had bought for the occasion. He had washed with the prescribed scent-neutralizing body scrub to remove any traces of other alphas. He’d used the toilet to evacuate the mucus plug his body had now expelled from his inner vaginal passage, and he’d taken the birth control his father had provided. His room had been cleaned and stocked with food and water. There were even some fresh flowers on the bureau.

John had quizzed his dad about that — knowing he and his future mate would soon be unlikely even to notice they were there — but Rory Carr-Watson insisted that the niceties of a modern honeymoon (which were mostly for betas) should still apply.

There was a soft knock at the door and his dad’s smiling face appeared. “All ready, sweetheart?”

“I guess I am,” John said. 

Rory entered the room, closing the door behind him. He was shorter than John’s father (John’s height, in fact), with auburn hair and the same deep-blue-greyish eyes John saw in the mirror every morning. The man crossed to the bed and sat beside his son.

John sank gratefully into his dad’s sentimental embrace. It felt so very good to be held. Rory petted his hair and kissed the top of his head.

“Your father has gone to Gran’s for the week and Harry and Clara will go to Clara’s folks’,” he started, just a trace of emotion in his voice. “I’m so excited for you, John. I know this has been a bit of a wait, but I think — well, I just know your mate is going to be special. That’s what you deserve.”

John sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll be as lucky as Harry, or as you and father.”

“Oh, Clara is wonderful and your father and I are very lucky. We still had some things to work through, though. There’s always the tense adjustment period after the bonding heat. You’ll have to get to know one another, and get used to living together, and — oh, speaking of that. Now I will discuss this with your mate’s alpha parent when they get here, as part of the bonding contract, but I wanted to let you know that you are welcome to live with us if you would prefer. Your father and I lived with Grandma and Grandfather Carr rather than Gran Watson, simply because it was better access to Bart’s for your father and to the culinary college I wanted to attend. But it is up to you.”

“I suppose whatever is easiest for us both is all right with me,” John replied, yawning. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Rory squeezed him tight and placed one more kiss on John’s sandy brown hair. “My poor baby. I should leave you to rest up. You’ll need your strength.”

“Dad…” John groaned.

“Give over! Most natural thing in the world to talk about your heat with your omega parent.” Rory stood and stepped back to the door. “And while we’re on that subject: should your mate be delayed, I’ve put some ‘aids’ in a box under the bed. That ought to see you through.”

“Delayed?” John tuned in to this, completely ignoring the mention of sex toys. “Is that possible? Does it happen often?”

“Shhh, now, pet,” his dad soothed. “It is rare, but it can happen. You’ve been giving off the scent markers only your alpha can detect for a couple of weeks, but they’ll have changed now. Your scent in heat is discernible to all alphas; the territorial urges get the intended alpha moving but can sometimes throw off their ‘homing beacon’ a little. Your father was four hours late for our bonding heat. Gran Watson was very nearly hopelessly confused by his directions. But he got there in the end. Don’t you worry — I’m sure everything will be fine.” 


	2. Substitution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John just wants to know what it's like to share a heat...

“Hey.” John waited as the alpha gave him a good long look up and down. “I’m John.”

The man was probably in his mid-forties, with dark hair and green eyes. He was of medium height — not very tall, but taller than John — with broad shoulders and the thick frame of a man who spent a great deal of time lifting weights. John had been admiring the ridiculous bulge of the man’s biceps under his tight black t-shirt since he’d passed John on his way to the bar. 

The alpha was a bit heavier-set than John usually fancied, but the fire in the pit of his belly reminded him that he was not in a position to be that fussy. He’d already wasted nearly thirty minutes chatting up two other alphas with no result (the first turned out to be bonded, but had obviously acquired some scent-blockers for cheating on her mate; the second was too drunk to be of any use). 

John self-consciously straightened the simple, plaid button-down he’d pulled on. It was new but hardly sexy, especially with the everyday jeans he’d worn with it. Fortunately, an omega on the cusp of heat didn’t need to primp too much to get laid.

With any luck at all.

The alpha smiled up at John from his seat at the table in the corner. He’d come in with a beta male, who had just departed for the gents. John had not hesitated to make a move. Bond-broken alphas were not as rare as unbonded alphas or unclaimed omegas, but uncommon enough that John was bloody-well running out of time. 

“Hello, John,” the man replied. His voice was a bit nasal, which irritated John just a little bit, but he shook it off. He chose to focus on the rather pleasant Scottish accent and the heady, woodsy scent the man was giving off. “I’m Allan.”

“Allan,” John repeated with a flirty smile. “Can I buy you a drink?”

The alpha quirked an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

John struggled not to roll his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. I think I should buy, since I’m the one who crossed the pub to come talk to you.”

Allan smiled and pulled out the chair next to him. “Well, aren’t you sweet. Though I admit I was just about to come to you.”

“Caught me looking, did you?”

“I could smell you when I passed you earlier. My god, you are close to ripe, aren’t you?”

John sat, warmth rolling through him at the proximity of an available mate. He could not resist the urge to lean in and Allan happily obliged by pulling his chair closer. Allan dipped his head and began to scent John who was already dragging in deep lungfuls of the alpha’s intoxicating pheromones.

“Jesus, you smell amazing,” Allan breathed. “Bit of a risk, isn’t it? Coming to a place like this all alone, in your state?”

“It-it’s my local,” John stammered. “Bar staff are mates — said they’d keep an eye out.”

John bit back a whimper as one of the Scotsman’s large hands slid up his thigh under the table to cup him through his jeans. Allan’s fingers teased at John’s already stiff prick and then slid between his willingly parted thighs to rub over his sac and slip just between his bottom and the rough upholstered chair. John nearly levitated as the firm palm pressed over that neediest part of him.

“Are you getting wet for me?” Allan whispered into his ear, his breath ruffling John’s hair.

John nodded weakly, inclining his head toward the alpha. He clasped the man’s wrist and ground down into his large hand. The pressure against his rapidly loosening entrance was divine. He bit his lip to keep from moaning aloud in the crowded pub.

“Wearing a pad, are you?” Allan guessed as he continued to rub over John’s denim-clad arse, which remained dry in spite of the flood of slick he’d just produced. “Clever omega. Sweet, clever little cock-slut.”

John’s brain registered the slur, but he was too far gone to retreat. It was not that unusual for alphas to think of omegas as sex toys anyway; given the man’s age, it was hardly surprising.

“W-w-widowed?” John gasped.

“Divorced,” Allan replied simply. “I wanted more children and she didn’t. Can you imagine that? An omega not wanting to breed?” He slid his hand out from under John’s bum and pressed it firmly over his belly instead. “You are such a sweet, fresh, young thing. I bet you’d give me beautiful bairns.”

John choked back a sob. He didn’t really want children, but his body responded anyway; his hole throbbed at the mere suggestion. He buried his face in Allan’s shoulder.

“And you, my fair one?” Allan whispered. “How are you still free at your age?”

“Mmmm-my alpha. Didn’t come,” John panted. 

“And you didn’t seek another alpha until now? How? What were you waiting for?”

“Suppressed. M-med-ical school. I-I just qualified as a doctor.”

“Really?” Allan cooed. “That is precious. Beautiful and talented as well. But now you’re ready to settle down?”

John tried to shake his head, but somehow his muscles were not responding as they were supposed to. “Parents — my parents were killed in a crash. Two weeks ago. I…oh, god, I’ve been so lonely.”

Allan tsked and tugged John into his arms. He rubbed John’s back as he whispered endearments John didn’t understand. John wrapped both arms around the larger man’s neck. He felt so safe, so protected, so cherished.

Finally, the alpha stood. He steadied John on his feet and wrapped a possessive arm about his shoulders as they began the walk to the rear exit. 

“No sense torturing everyone out front,” Allan said smugly. He leered at John.

John nodded — he was far too hazy to make an argument. He knew sharing a heat with a random alpha could never be as profound as bonding with his mate would have been, but it would still be very pleasurable. All he wanted was to get somewhere they could be alone, so the ache inside him would finally (oh, god, finally) be satisfied. 

“What about your friend?” John thought to ask.

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” Allan rumbled. “He’ll understand.”

They made it as far as the alley before John’s knees started to buckle. Allan pressed him up against the wall for a moment. 

“Easy now,” the man rumbled. He stroked over John’s bottom with one hand and pinched his nipples through his shirt with the other. John had long since forgotten about the jacket he’d left behind at his own table.

Allan dipped his head to lick a stripe over John’s throat, humming his approval. He shifted suddenly, grasping John’s hips and hoisting him up. John instinctively wrapped his legs around the alpha’s waist and his arms around the larger man’s neck.

The man pressed John there for a moment, holding him tight between his powerful, muscular body and the wall and kissing him breathless.

“That’s my little breeder,” Allan cooed, grinding his cock against the underside of John’s bum. He nuzzled into the spot just below John’s ear. “Can’t wait for the first round, pretty. I’ll have you right here.”

John glanced around at the dim, dank alley. His head began to clear a little. “No,” he muttered. “Please. Not here. Not like this.”

“Shhh.”

Allan kissed him again — roughly and with too much tongue and with breath still tasting slightly sour. It hadn’t bothered him before, but now…

“Allan, wait,” John pulled back. He pushed at the broad chest. “This isn’t how I want this to be. I just…”

The alpha was groaning and kneading his arse. Which had, until moments ago, felt quite lovely. Now it felt rough and invasive.

John inhaled deeply, trying to find reassurance in the potent alpha scent that had attracted him earlier. He was startled to discover it wasn’t the same. He jerked his head back in displeasure at the bitter notes now clouding the alpha’s scent. 

With a shock, John realized that the effects of his heat were dissipating. The delightful lethargy and the lovely sensation of drifting eased. His urgent erection flagged. The pleasant, wet heat in his rear passage faded.

“Oh, god, John,” Allan rasped. “ _Mine_.”

The voice was wrong. And the body. He couldn’t even begin to understand why, but it was all…wrong.

John began to struggle in earnest, the fuzziness now completely worn off. He released his legs from around Allan’s waist and let them drop. Allan, unfortunately, interpreted this as acquiescence to a public fuck. He began tugging on John’s belt.

“NO!” John tugged back, placing a hand in the centre of the bigger man’s chest. “Allan, I’m sorry. I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“S’all right,” the man grunted. “You’re just panicky. Virgins usually are. Relax.”

“I’m not really —” John huffed in frustration. “Allan, I’m quite serious. I can’t. I don’t — I’m not even sure I’m in heat anymore.”

Allan pulled back at last, bewildered. “Not in…how the hell can you _stop_ a heat? What kind of an omega _are_ you?”

He regarded John with something like disgust. He was still panting, but his eyes were a little clearer. “Maybe if we just give it a little longer,” he suggested. “Go back to my hotel.”

John stared at the man, wishing he knew what had gone wrong. Allan was a decently attractive, available alpha, but for some reason John’s body didn’t want him.

Allan, for his part, looked put out. And John could see he was still very hard in his trousers.

“I-I’m sorry,” John started, easing the man away from him. “It isn’t you. There’s just something off. I can’t explain it.”

The man’s brows knit together — he looked quite cross.

“I don’t think you’re really trying,” the Scotsman snapped. “You lead me on, drive me to the brink and then you think you can just walk away?”

John swallowed hard, suddenly feeling vulnerable. He was not a weak, wilting flower, but he was alone with an angry alpha who’d been near frenzy only moments before. Harry had always said he should take some self-defence classes; of course, this would be the one thing his alpha sister had ever been right about.

“Watson?”

They both turned at the sound of the voice. Allan snarled at the intruder, easily scenting a rival. Alistair — a mate of John’s from school, whose family owned the pub — was bonded, but that wouldn’t matter to an aroused alpha defending his breeding rights. 

John’s old friend was standing in the doorway. He held the heavy steel door open with one hand and John’s jacket with the other. “You all right?”

John sagged with relief. He slid out from between Allan and the wall, gratefully accepting his jacket. “I am, yeah,” he agreed.

Alistair nodded, eyeing Allan with suspicion. John took advantage of the opportunity to squeeze between Alistair and the door to get back into the crowded pub. 

"Thanks."


	3. Broken people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John bumps into an old friend...

“John? John Watson?”

The man with the cane turned to see who was calling his name. A round-faced chap with specs stood and approached him from the park bench he’d just passed. John watched the other man cautiously; he looked very familiar, but John had not been in much of a humour for small talk since he’d got back.

“Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart’s together.” 

“Yes. Sorry. Yes. Mike. Hello. Hi.”

The man shook John’s offered hand. “Yeah, I know. I got fat,” he said.

“No,” John replied without conviction.

“I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?”

John’s smile tightened and the lines on his face deepened just a little. His hand clenched around the handle of his cane. “I got shot.”

Mike blanched. “I — sorry. Right. That was…that was bloody tactless of me.”

John waited, hoping his old friend would simply say his farewells and retreat. He had forgotten about Mike’s capacity for contrition. “Look, could I buy you a coffee or something?”

Ten minutes later they had returned to the bench and sat side by side nursing the rather weak coffee they had been able to procure nearby. Mike rattled on about teaching at Bart’s and the students. John tried to pay attention, much the same as he had been trying to pay attention at his therapist’s office earlier in the week and in the hospital two months before when an officer from support services had visited to tell him he was being discharged from care _and_ from military service. He struggled to care about the mundanities he now faced in the civilian world as a wounded former soldier, a crippled surgeon and…

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Mike started cautiously. He inhaled deeply and glanced down at John’s left hand, confirming there was no wedding band in place of the bonding ring John would have had. “So you’re still…single?”

John released a ragged breath. And there it was. “Yup,” he replied tersely. “Still.”

“Sorry,” Mike said sheepishly. “I really am a wanker today. I’m not usually like this. Ask my wife. You remember Jenn?”

John nodded vaguely, visualizing Mike’s petite, dark-haired beta girlfriend. “You two made it official, then.”

“Yeah, we did.” Mike’s smile was infectious. John couldn’t help but be happy for his old friend. He was a decent fellow, really. And it wasn’t his fault John was broken and alone.

“That’s great,” John said. “You two were always good together.”

Mike’s smile dimmed. “I never thought…it’s just what with you going into the army in the end, I honestly believed you’d find someone that way. Seemed so logical that if your alpha hadn’t come that it was because you were meant to find someone else — a beta, or maybe even a bond-broken alpha — overseas or something, and that you just had to go off so you could catch up with them.”

John nodded again. He’d never told anyone about the night with Allan. Mike had been on holiday with his girlfriend then, and Harry had been in rehab for the first time. Not that he knew what he would have told them anyway. Who would believe an omega couldn’t manage to mate with an alpha?

“Yeah, I did wonder about that,” John confessed. “I haven’t had any luck with alphas, but I’ve dated a few betas.”

“No alphas?” Mike looked puzzled.

“I, uhm, I was seeing one in Afghanistan.” Technically true. He had tried once more, after Allan. Not a heat (he didn’t go off the suppressants again once he’d enlisted), but a relationship. Her name was Becca and she was a helicopter pilot. They’d had five dates before John had resigned himself to the fact that it was hopeless: when they’d tried to become intimate, he’d found he couldn’t tolerate her scent. Or the sound of her voice. Or the way her hands felt on his body. 

She just wasn’t...right.

Oh, he’d been annoyed by the possessive behaviour and the occasional patronizing comment, too, but in the end it came down to biology: for some reason, John’s body did not want an alpha. He was an anomaly. 

At least that’s what the army’s AO therapist had called him.

In spite of everything, though, he hadn’t completely given up on love. He’d had his share of romantic interludes. He just hadn’t yet met anyone he’d wanted to keep around for long.  

Overall he’d had a good life in the army. He didn’t regret any of it.

“Didn’t work out?” Mike asked sympathetically.

“Nope.” John took another long sip of coffee.

“That’s the way it goes, sometimes, isn’t it,” Mike mused. He stared out at the park, clearly digesting John’s admission. “You know, less than 10% of omegas make it through a first heat without their alpha responding to their call.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“I’m so…damn it. I’m sorry, John. Honestly, I’m not usually a prat.”

“Never mind,” John deflected with a forced smile. God, he was getting so tired of pretending he was fine. “Hardly your fault. I am a bit of an oddity — you’d remember an omega like me.”

Mike smiled at him, kindness very obvious in his expression. “I remember that you were the best surgical resident out of any of us. Probably one of the best Bart’s has ever produced. And I remember that you were a good and loyal friend.”

“You, too,” John agreed, looking down at the paper cup in his hand. He rubbed the other clenched fist over the thigh of his bad leg. “Look, don’t worry about it. I admit it was a bit disconcerting to go through my heat and find out that no one had turned up for me, but I came to terms with it years ago. It just wasn’t meant to be. They figure now that my alpha probably didn’t survive childhood. It’s unusual for the bond not to be transferred to another alpha, but I guess it happens. When I was — after I was shot, I thought that might have been why. That I hadn’t got a bondmate because I was meant to die younger, or something. But then I survived, so I suppose it’s just a fluke.”

Mike nodded, pensive. “So you’re just staying in town until you get yourself sorted?”

“I can’t afford London on an army pension.”

“And you couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. That’s not the John Watson I know.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the John Watson you kn —” John swallowed the end of that bitter phrase.

“Couldn’t Harry help?”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

“I don’t know. You could get a flatshare or something.”

“Come on,” John grinned wryly. “Who’d want me for a flatmate?”

Mike chuckled.

“What?”

“You’re the second person to say that to me today.”

John looked at his old friend with genuine curiosity. “Who was the first?”

____________________________

“Bit different from my day,” John remarked, looking around the lab Mike had led him to.

“Oh, you’ve no idea,” Mike replied.

John scented the air, immediately identifying the tall, dark-haired chap in front of the microscope: an extremely rare unbonded alpha. He was lean and pale, sharply dressed in a dark suit and white button-down — no wedding band. And of rather advanced years to be neither bonded nor married.

John was trying hard not to stare when the man spoke.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.”

“What’s wrong with a land line?”

“I prefer to text.”

“Sorry,” Mike sighed, gesturing at the door. “It’s in my coat.”

“Here, use mine,” John said swiftly, fishing the new mobile his sister had given him from his pocket. 

The attractive alpha glanced in his direction. “Oh. Thank you.”

Mike jumped in, pointing at John. “This is an old friend of mine. John Watson.”

The alpha approached; John smiled politely as he handed the phone over. The man took it and snapped it open immediately. John waited for a smile, or…well it was ridiculous really. Why would he even want the man to acknowledge him? John still made it a policy to keep alphas at a distance. Even the insanely attractive ones.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John caught Mike’s eye; the man was smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“Sorry?” John asked, caught off guard.

“Which was it?” the alpha asked. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John made every effort not to stare at the man’s mouth, but it was so fascinating. A perfect Cupid’s Bow. “Afghanistan…sorry, how did you —”

“Ah, Molly!”

John tuned out for a moment as Sherlock handed the phone back to him and commenced a brief conversation about lipstick with (and took a coffee from) the quiet beta woman. Pathologist, at a guess.

He was pulled back into the conversation with an unlikely query. “How do you feel about the violin?”

“Sorry, what?” John was feeling decidedly uncomfortable now.

“I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end.” The alpha turned and fixed John the most unusual pale eyes he’d ever seen. “Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”

The man smiled, but it had no warmth. This puzzled John even more.

“You-you told him about me?” This John directed to Mike, who had busied himself playing with samples.

“Not a word,” Mike vowed with a little shake of his head.

“Then who said anything about flatmates?” John asked, his tone a little sharp. He really didn’t like head games. He had no patience for them these days.

“I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for.” John watched as the mysterious, handsome man shrugged into a long, dark wool coat. “Now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend clearly just returned from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t a difficult leap.”

John studied the floor, noting absent-mindedly that his shoes needed a polish. “How did you know about Afghanistan?”

“I’ve got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We’ll meet there tomorrow evening. Seven o’clock. Sorry, got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.”

John could feel his hackles rising as the man breezed past him, the bloody presumptuous (gorgeous) alpha bastard. “Is that it?” he snapped, turning to where his supposed new flatmate was about to exit the room.

“Is that what?” The alpha swung back from the door, posturing. He moved toward John, looking defiant…and just a little surprised. Clearly the man didn’t like to be challenged. 

“We’ve only just met and we’re going to go and look at a flat.”

A trace of a smile touched the mouth John was trying very hard not to think about. “Problem?”

“We don’t know a thing about each other; I don’t know where we’re meeting. I don’t even know your name.”

The taller man’s jaw dipped and he took a deep breath. Nothing could have prepared John for what happened next.

“I know you’re an unbonded, single, suppressed omega and an army doctor, and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. You’ve got an alpha brother who’s worried about you, but you won’t go to him for help because you disapprove of him — possibly because he’s an alcoholic, mmm-more likely because he recently walked out on his bondmate. And I know your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite rightly I’m afraid. That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?”

John wasn’t sure where to look first, from Mike to his cane and back to the alpha, who now had a very pleased expression on his face as he returned to the lab door. 

John pursed his lips, partly to keep from calling the man a tosser and partly to keep from grinning like an idiot.

The alpha pulled the door wide. “The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street.” He winked cheekily at John before calling a farewell in Mike’s direction.

John glanced back at Mike, who gave a small wave in response to Sherlock’s departure before saying, with the same cryptic grin, “Yeah. He’s always like that.”


	4. The beginning of a beautiful friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know Sherlock Holmes is nothing like John expected...

“Sherlock. Anything on the menu, free. On the house for you and your date.”

John bristled instantly. He knew the man would assume he was a beta, but the sentiment still rankled. He was perfectly comfortable with his gender, but he hated society’s misguided ideas where alphas and any “weaker” sex were concerned. Maybe the hot alpha was _his_ date, for crying out loud!

No, that wouldn’t do. He was not on a date; didn’t want to be on a date. Not with an alpha. Certainly not with _this_ alpha.

“Do you want to eat?” Sherlock asked him.

“I’m not his date,” John directed this to the large bearded man who appeared to be their host.

“This man got me off a murder charge,” the man replied.

John stared at the menu he’d been handed as Sherlock explained.

“This is Angelo. Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade that at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder Angelo was in a completely different part of town housebreaking.”

“He cleared my name,” Angelo added.

“I cleared it a bit,” Sherlock said, turning back to the window through which he was watching for the serial killer he’d had John text earlier. “Anything happening opposite?”

“Nothing,” Angelo answered. “But for this man, I’d have gone to prison.”

“You did go to prison.”

Angelo clearly wasn’t interested in details. “I’ll get a candle for the table,” he said to John with a wink. “S’more romantic.”

“I’m not his date!” John called after the man.

“You may as well eat.” Sherlock advised, setting his own menu aside. “We may have a long wait.”

A little bit later, John was tucking into some grilled smoked chorizo and considering the events of the last 24 hours. They certainly seemed to belong to the life of someone other than Dr. John H. Watson. 

After his first meeting with the enigmatic alpha, he’d gone straight home from Bart’s and checked his phone, though he’d made no sense of the message. Then he’d looked the madman up on the Internet. His website was fascinating…and completely unbelievable.

Then today, he’d met Sherlock Holmes at the Baker Street address. The flat proved to be perfect, if untidy. John had been a little surprised that the man had made an effort to straighten up as he’d stood there. Clearly it was an effort to impress a potential flatmate, but for an alpha to exhibit nesting behaviour bordered on courting. _This_ alpha seemed blissfully unaware of the connotation.

The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, had not batted an eye at Sherlock’s introduction of his “new omega flatmate” and naturally had not thought it odd that an unbonded alpha like Sherlock would be sharing with a single breeder. In fact, she had asked quite baldly if they would need the second bedroom. 

John had quickly disabused her of the notion that he and Sherlock would be anything more than flatmates, which he’d feared might not be taken well (it had always been a bit scandalous for alphas and omegas to be platonic), but it appeared he’d missed some social advances while in the army. The dear woman had even teased them that there were “all sorts” in the neighbourhood, including a civil partnership alpha/alpha couple (once illegal, never mind taboo) in the flat next door. 

John had no more than decided (sort of) to stay than they were interrupted by an omega police detective and a serial (murder) suicide. Which is how John had found himself at a crime scene. 

In the cab, on their way to see the dead woman in pink, Sherlock had explained how he’d worked out all of John’s life from just his haircut and posture, his indistinguishable scent, his tan, a few words spoken to Mike in passing and his mobile phone. 

John was astonished. And terribly intrigued.

He’d managed to embarrass himself repeatedly then, standing over the corpse verbalizing his newly discovered capacity for hero worship. Even Sherlock had commented on it.

It might not have been quite so mortifying if he weren’t having such a hard time shaking his attraction to the man.

It was a terrible idea, of course. Obviously he could not bond with any alpha other than his intended (who didn’t exist), and his attempts at simply mating with other alphas had been abject failures — disasters, really. 

So he’d sworn off alphas and never looked back, even when surrounded by them in the army. He’d learned to appreciate them as fellow soldiers, to rely on them in battle, but he’d never again found himself attracted to one of them. Even without his seeming aversion, he knew they could all be difficult and demanding and territorial. Not having a bond just made them that much more difficult to predict. 

And Sherlock _had_ abandoned John in Brixton and caused him to be kidnapped and quizzed by his Arch Enemy (whatever the hell that meant when it was at home).

“People don’t have arch enemies,” John pondered aloud, forking another bite of chorizo.

“Sorry?” Sherlock glanced away from the window to look at John, confused and possibly a little irritated.

“There are no arch enemies in real life,” John repeated, still chewing. “Doesn’t happen.”

“Doesn’t it?” Sherlock said wearily. “Sounds a bit dull.”

“So who did I meet?”

“So what do people have then, in their real lives?” Sherlock evaded, meeting John’s eyes once more.

“Friends,” John answered simply. “People they know, people they like, people they don’t like.” He inhaled through his nose as he chewed, suddenly very aware of the unbonded alpha’s scent. “Boyfriends, girlfriends.”

“Like I said: dull.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend, then.” John schooled his features to remain impassive, but discovered (much to his horror) he was waiting a bit breathlessly for the reply. 

“Girlfriend? No. Not really my area.”

“Oh, right,” John said, trying to keep the delight from his voice. (Damn it.) “Do you have a boyfriend? An omega, or a beta?” He hesitated. “O-or another alpha?”

Sherlock once again fixed him with the piercing pale eyes. 

“Which is fine, by the way.”

“I know it’s fine,” the alpha interjected sharply. 

The two men regarded each other. John knew there was a smile on his face — he felt like a tit, but couldn’t seem to help himself.

“So you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“No.” Another brusque reply.

“Right, okay,” John answered. He licked his lips, suddenly finding his mouth very dry indeed. He had to look away from Sherlock’s keen gaze. “You’re unattached. Just like me. Fine. Good.” He cleared his throat and tried to look nonchalant. He smiled gamely. “I mean, there are fewer and fewer alphas and omegas born in each generation, so who knows — A/Os without bondmates might actually become pretty commonplace. Eventually maybe everyone will have to choose their partners.”

Sherlock started to look back to the window, but John could feel the man still watching him out of the corners of his eyes. He tried to focus on his food.

A few seconds later, Sherlock spoke again. “John, uhm, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work. I am without a bondmate, which suits me very well, and I have no interest in any kind of non-bonded relationship.”

“No,” John started, mortified. He really hadn’t intended it to sound like a proposition. (Shit!)

“While I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any…”

“No. I’m not asking…no!” John shook his head. “I’m just saying, it’s all fine.”

Sherlock studied him for a moment before returning his attention to the window. “Good.”

_______________________

“Uhm, Sergeant Donovan’s just been explaining…everything. Two pills,” John said casually, looking around at the crime scene. His second in two days. “A dreadful business, isn’t it? Dreadful.”

“Good shot.” Sherlock said softly, the ghost of a smile teasing at his mouth.

“Yes,” John replied innocently, glancing back toward the college. “Must have been. Through that window.”

“Did you get the powder burns out of your fingers? I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case.”

John cleared his throat, checking around them once more. When he looked back at his new flatmate, the alpha was staring at him with something like…concern.

“Are you all right?” the man asked.

“Yes, of course I’m all right,” John replied, a touch defensively.

“Well, you have just killed a man.”

“Yes, I…” John hesitated, carefully regarding the man he’d just killed _for_. He endured the detective’s intense scrutiny for a moment before nodding. “That’s true.” This wasn’t a war, and he was no longer a soldier. He should feel more conflicted, more remorseful, but he didn’t. All he could feel was relief that Sherlock was standing in front of him, hale and hearty. He forced a smile. “But he wasn’t a very nice man.”

“No,” Sherlock conceded. “No, he wasn’t really, was he?”

“And, frankly, a bloody awful cabbie.”

Sherlock chuckled, turning to leave the crime scene. “That’s true. He was a bad cabbie.” John followed automatically. “You should have seen the route he took us to get here.”

John couldn’t help it — he laughed. Hysteria, maybe? Or just the remains of adrenaline in his system. “Stop…we can’t giggle at a crime scene. Stop it.”

“You’re the one that shot him,” Sherlock drawled. “Not me.”

“Will you…keep your voice down,” John admonished, turning to address Sergeant Donovan as she passed them. “Sorry, it’s just, uhm, nerves.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock echoed with a tight and wholly unrepentant smile.

John paused as a thought occurred to him. “You were going to take that damn pill, weren’t you?”

“Of course I wasn’t.” Sherlock stopped and turned to face him. “I was just biding my time. Knew you’d turn up.”

“No, you didn’t,” John scoffed. “It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re clever.”

“Why would I do that?”

John stared at the man in front of him, suddenly convicted that he’d never met anyone who needed looking after as much as Sherlock Holmes did. “Because you’re an idiot.”

The man’s smile was brief, but genuine. John didn’t want to feel such pleasure in seeing it directed at him, but he did.

“Dinner?” Sherlock asked.

“Starving.”

“End of Baker Street,” Sherlock started, continuing toward the main street. “There’s a good Chinese. Stays open ‘til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by the state of the bottom third of the door handle…”

John saw the man before Sherlock did — the well-dressed businessman who’d offered to pay him to spy on his new friend.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, that’s him.” John nodded in the direction of the black saloon. “That’s the man I was talking to you about.”

“I know exactly who that is.” Sherlock crossed to meet his umbrella-wielding foe. 

“So,” the man started. “Another case cracked. How very public spirited. Though that’s never really your motivation, is it?”

“What are you doing here?” 

John watched the detective for signs of distress or fear, but the man displayed only irritation.

“As ever, I’m concerned about you.”

“Yes, I’ve been hearing about your _concern_.”

“Always so aggressive. Did it ever occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?”

“Oddly enough, no.”

“We have more in common than you like to believe,” the older man suggested.

John looked from one alpha to the other, desperately trying to sort out what was going on. He felt a presence at his back and turned to see DI Lestrade standing there.

“Dr. Watson,” the DI whispered conspiratorially. He leaned in a bit; John angled away, a little unnerved by the man’s familiarity — he had only just met him. “You’ll find it’s usually best just to let them finish.”

“But…” John started.

“This petty feud between us is simply childish,” Sherlock’s Arch Enemy continued. “People will suffer.”

“God knows some of us already have,” Lestrade grumbled to John, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And you know how it always upset Mummy.”

“There it is,” Lestrade sighed. He stepped closer to the two alphas, laying a hand on the mystery man. “All right, My. Come on…”

“ _I_ upset her?” Sherlock was incredulous. “ _Me_?” His voice rose and gained a sharp edge. “It wasn’t _me_ that upset her, _Mycroft_.”

Sherlock took a step toward the older man, but Lestrade intervened. He placed a hand on the detective’s shoulder. 

“Sherlock, please. Not now. Not here.”

“No, No…wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy?” John asked, now more annoyed than worried. 

“Mother,” Sherlock snapped. “ _Our_ mother. This is my brother, Mycroft.” 

John stared at both men, slack jawed. He looked to DI Lestrade for some kind of hint, but the man was focussed on keeping the Holmes boys separated.

“Putting on weight again?”

“Oi!” Lestrade barked. “That is bang out of order, Sherlock.”

“Losing it, in fact,” Mycroft snapped, now leaning over the omega copper’s shoulder.

“He’s your _brother_ ,” John interjected.

“Of course he’s my brother,” Sherlock said. 

“Heaven help us all,” Lestrade mumbled.

“So he’s not…”

“Not what?” Sherlock looked to John now. 

“I dunno.” The doctor shook his head. “Criminal mastermind?”

This earned a deep chortle from DI Lestrade, who was now holding quite tightly to Sherlock’s brother. He ran a hand over the front of the man’s three-piece suit with a fond smile. John watched this too, with deepening confusion, his lips pursed.

“Close enough,” Sherlock answered.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Greg groaned.

“I occupy a minor position in the British government,” Mycroft insisted.

“He _is_ the British government, when he’s not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA, on a freelance basis.”

John looked at the only other omega in their small party. Lestrade was both amused and proud. He was smiling at the alpha beside him — very clearly his alpha, if John needed any further evidence now that he could smell them both clearly and make out the matching bonding rings — who’d bowed his head during Sherlock’s little speech. Suddenly things became much clearer.

“Be nice, Sherlock,” the copper said, not unkindly. 

“Good evening, Mycroft,” Sherlock said firmly. “Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does to the traffic.”

The detective turned and marched away leaving a befuddled John staring at the A/O bonded pair beside him. Lestrade shot him a sympathetic look as John began to follow Sherlock.

The omega doctor hesitated and turned. “So when you say you’re concerned about him,” he said to Mycroft, “You actually are concerned.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And it really is a childish feud.”

“You have no idea,” the DI sighed. 

“He’s always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners.”

“Yeah,” John replied distantly, watching Sherlock as he walked away from them. He realized suddenly what Mycroft had said. “No! God, no.”

“That makes you the luckiest man here,” Greg chuckled. He turned his attention back to his mate. “My, look, I’m going to be a bit. You need to get to the station to pick up Gabe and Elizabeth.”

“Gabe and…” John couldn’t help overhearing.

“Our son, Gabriel, and his new mate, Elizabeth,” Mycroft supplied, his face softening at the mention of his family. “They are returning from a visit to France. Exchange studies.”

“Oh,” John was shaking his head again. “Oh, right. Okay. Well, I’d better, uhm…” John turned to depart when he noticed Mycroft’s beautiful beta assistant standing nearby.

“Hello again,” he said cheerfully.

‘Anthea’ glanced up from her phone with a blank expression. “Hello.”

“Yes, we met earlier on this evening.”

“Oh!” The woman sounded genuinely surprised.

“Okay. Goodnight.”

John was about to catch up his alpha flatmate when DI Lestrade laid a hand on his arm.

“Dr. Watson, look…”

“It’s just…John. Call me John.”

“John, I’m Greg.” The older man smiled at him. “Look, I know what these two are like. I’ve been trying to keep them from killing each other for decades. If you are serious about…I dunno, helping Sherlock, being around him, as well as just sharing his flat, and you ever want to get a pint and talk about anything —”

“I’ll think about it.,” John replied. 

“I meant what I said. Before. He’s a great man. But he can also be a gigantic pain in the arse. Like this one.”

He inclined his head in his mate’s direction, but the man was engaged in conversation with his beta employee.

John took the hand Greg offered and shook it. “Thanks,” he said again. He nodded at his new flatmate’s distracted older brother and turned to finally make his way to where Sherlock had paused to wait for him.

He fell into step beside the long-legged alpha detective once more. “So, dim sum.”

“Mmmmm…” 


	5. The way you make me feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is horny, and he's not alone...

John rolled awake slowly, relishing the warmth and softness of his bed. So many years with indifferent sleeping accommodations had given him a decided appreciation for a comfortable night’s sleep.

He stretched out on his back, smiling from the little bit of the dream he could still remember. It was about Sherlock. Again.

He’d given up trying to talk himself out of his fascination for the alpha. The man drew John in a way he’d never experienced, and with good reason: he was happier sharing a flat and working with Sherlock than...well, than he had been for as long as he could remember. 

He was living again — _really_ living. Sherlock had given him purpose, along with a healthy dose of the excitement he’d been missing as a civilian. 

The man had even cured his (entirely psychosomatic, as it turned out) limp.

John knew better than to become too attached, though. Sherlock had made it clear he wasn’t interested in anything more than the camaraderie they had quickly developed, and John whole-heartedly agreed. Odds were better than good he’d be unable to pursue a relationship with the alpha anyway. He was attracted to Sherlock and his scent now, but he had been to the others as well — in the beginning.

Still, after several weeks of self-recrimination, he had finally given in to his physical attraction. Until he could find himself a nice beta partner (and he was certainly still looking), and as long as his lust stayed within the four walls of his small bedroom, he was prepared to indulge.

He hummed with pleasure as his hand drifted down over his chest and belly. He tugged his sleep shirt out of the way and then felt beneath the elastic waistband of his soft cotton pyjama bottoms. His fingers wrapped around his firm length, already leaking pre-come from the heated visions that had roused him from sleep. He smoothed the liquid over the head of his cock and then down his shaft. He stroked firmly, rotated his palm over the glans and then pumped back down to the base. He shoved his other hand beneath the bunched up sleep shirt and rubbed over one sensitive nipple.

“Sherlock,” he breathed softly.

He’d dreamt about a bonding heat. 

It was not his parents’ house, though — the grey and green, rugby-postered bedroom of his childhood — but rather a dimly lit, soft-coloured, modern space. A hotel room, maybe. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided an unobstructed view of London at night. 

It was breathtaking, but definitely not what had John so excited.

Sherlock.

Sherlock naked. 

Sherlock naked — his magnificent penis erect — beckoning to him with open arms.

God, he was beautiful. 

John bit down on a throaty noise as he slowed the rhythm of his hand. He panted back from the edge — he wasn’t ready yet. He moved his hand to fondle his sac and press his fingers into his perineum for a moment.

He returned to the picture in his mind’s eye…

The dim light of the room cast the alpha into half-shadow but highlighted the lean muscle under the smooth, fair skin. He did have hair on his chest, though not as much as other alphas John had seen. Still, it would be enough for John to tease his fingers through.

The long legs were firm and very toned, the shoulders broad enough but not overly muscular; the chest defined but not deep. Sherlock’s belly was taut and flat, John knew, in spite of his best efforts to get the man to eat on a semi-regular basis. And there was a line of darkish hair trailing down from Sherlock’s navel leading to the evidence of the man’s desire for him.

“ _John_ ,” his phantom mate called to him.

“Sherlock,” John rasped into his quiet room at 221B. “Yes.”

He resumed the movements of his own fist over his throbbing member as he imagined Sherlock’s arms around him, making him feel safe and surrounded and…claimed. There was no fear, no trepidation. This was not like that time. This was right and wonderful, because this was his mate.

Phantom Sherlock nuzzled at his neck, mouthing over the very spot where John’s scent would be strongest. The spot the alpha would soon bite to create their bond.

John’s body clenched at the idea. “Fuck.”

He imagined long fingers tracing the lines of his scar, and then moving down to swirl over his nipples — John tugged firmly on one and then the other, making believe it was Sherlock’s mouth closing over them and sucking hard.

John’s hips arched off the bed; he thrust into his fist, his eyes now firmly closed so he might stay with his imagined lover. He pumped his cock hard as he fantasized about Sherlock gently bending him over the king-sized bed.

The same elegant hands he’d come to appreciate as they fluttered through the air in irritation, or stroked over possible clues, or moved with grace over the violin now slipped into his cleft. 

John could not choke back the moan this time. It was louder than he’d hoped, but Sherlock wouldn’t be able to hear him. 

Probably.

In his vision, his body was wet with his natural omega response to his heat. His anus would be loosened and probably a little puffy. Sherlock stroked over him, dipping one finger within.

John’s thighs quivered; he could almost feel the touch. His arse clenched with the need to have something inside him. He released his reddened nipples and very hastily tugged his pyjamas down over his thighs. He returned his one hand to his cock and slid the first three fingers of the other into his mouth. He suckled sloppily, happy to allow saliva to dribble over his chin as he attempted to saturate the digits. Satisfied, he twisted to allow access to his hole.

“Oh, christ, yes, Sherlock. Fill me up,” he groaned. He wiggled his middle finger into his body, imaging that it was Sherlock’s hand preparing him for the thick alpha cock. He rotated his finger within several times as he withdrew and slid back, but soon became impatient for more. He added his index finger, hissing a little at the burn from inadequate lubrication. His body eased to the invasion quickly as John considered what Phantom Sherlock might say…

“ _You are so tight. So tight and so hot. And you are ready for me, aren’t you_?” the rich baritone voice crooned, rolling over John and sending shudders down his spine. The fingers now buried in his hole (not his own, no, but Phantom Sherlock’s) scissored and stretched, twisting wickedly to find the spot —

“Unnnggghh, god, oh, god, oh, god,” John panted, trying to keep his voice to a hoarse whisper.

He nudged at his prostate and whimpered a little.

“ _I will fill you and you will be my omega. My own. Only mine_ ,” Phantom Sherlock whispered into his ear, the swollen and dripping head of his fat cock now pressing against John’s entrance. 

“Yes. God, make me yours. Stuff me so full I won’t be able to walk for a week. Fuck me, Sherlock.”

John gasped as he firmly shoved all three fingers into his stretched hole, grinding back into them and imagining the girth of a hot, smooth prick pressing in even further against his inner walls, rubbing against his prostate and stroking over his g-spot as it breached his vagina. 

John thrashed on the bed, hips madly stuttering between his fist and his fingers, his body lost in the fever of his illusory mating. He turned to bury his face in his pillow in an effort to stifle the cries he knew were becoming increasingly loud.

“ _I’m going to flood you with come_ ,” Phantom Sherlock growled, licking and sucking at the bondsite on John’s throat. “ _Knot you to hold it all inside. I’ll mark you; change your scent. Everyone will know you belong to me — that we belong to each other_.”

“DO it!” John gasped. “Fucking fill me. Split me open with your huge knot. Ruin my arse, Sherlock. Please!”

And then there was nothing but white: brilliant white light behind his eyelids as he came, white teeth that bit his bottom lip until it bled to keep from screaming his flatmate’s name, creamy white spunk all over the bedclothes.

And a fading to white as the hotel room and Phantom Sherlock, and the bonding John would never have, dissolved.

He collapsed into the mattress, wrecked and gasping for air. He slid his hand from his arse, still trembling from the force of his orgasm.

“Shit,” he muttered. They definitely were getting more intense. Perhaps he should be a little concerned. 

After all, he’d come to the same, or very similar, fantasies of Sherlock for the better part of three weeks. The dreams were becoming more frequent; each climax more powerful than the one before.

He wondered, too, about his vision of the bonding heat. He’d long since finished mourning it, or thought he had. It was something he’d learned to accept would not happen.  

Clearly, though, some part of him did yearn for the intended alpha who’d never appeared. And his attraction to Sherlock was undeniable.

“John?”

He jumped a foot as he realized Sherlock’s voice was coming from the corridor, directly outside his closed door. John struggled to sit up, trying to breathe normally and hoping against all hope that the man hadn’t been standing there very long.

“Yeah. What is it?”

“We need milk.”

“You have legs. Go to the shops.”

“Busy,” came the retreating reply. “Thinking.”

John sighed, lifting his hips to pull his pyjamas back up. Of course he would go. He always went. 

And the bastard knew it.

_______________________________

A case. A real, _paying_ (holy fuck, look at the zeroes on that cheque) case.

John continued to stare at the retainer he held in his hand following a profitable though rather unpleasant encounter with an old college friend, and new client, of Sherlock’s.

Sebastian Wilkes was an alpha, and the worst version of his kind: arrogant, patronizing and rude. And a city boy, to boot. John had not been able to check the impulse to defend his presence at the meeting by correcting Sherlock’s introduction from “friend” to “colleague.” 

He could see it bothered the detective — and that stung more than he cared to admit — but he had not been prepared to sit through a meeting with an alpha arsehole like Wilkes and not make it clear that he _worked_ with Sherlock Holmes. 

He probably wouldn’t have been quite so sensitive (for himself and for his flatmate, who clearly had not been very popular at university) had it not been for the morning. 

Still shaken by his earth-shattering, fantasy-driven wank, he’d then had to deal with a humiliating turn with a chip and pin machine at the supermarket. He hated the technology anyway, but having the blasted computer voice inform him (and everyone else) that he couldn’t provide for himself had been a bit more than he’d been able to cope with. 

The state of his financial security had been an issue for some time, but he hated feeling conspicuous. Being an omega — even a suppressed omega — didn’t help. He knew people would not know what he was, but he did: he was made to crave his mate’s support and to want to be looked after. It was just something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

John had returned to the flat, knowing he would have to approach Sherlock for a solution. He hated asking his flatmate for cash to buy their food, and was humbled by the need to use the man’s card again, but there it was. He’d had to work hard to quell his feeling of security as he’d helped himself to Sherlock’s wallet, and he was unsettled by the pleasure he’d felt as he’d returned for their groceries. 

Intellectually, he knew he was a perfectly competent, independent unbonded omega male just going through a rough patch. But his body was playing traitor — endorphins had flooded his system at the implication that an alpha was providing for him. 

He still hadn’t worked out why. Suppressants were supposed to nix all that. 

Sherlock had been at John’s computer when he’d returned. After a brief discussion (argument), which did include a reference to John’s dire straits, Sherlock had announced he was going to the bank.

And now here they were, with £5,000 in hand.

“John.”

His head snapped up at the sound of his name. Sherlock was there, still, waiting for him at the end of the counter and intently watching him (and, more importantly, watching their new client). John was a little taken aback. He’d thought the man had gone off ahead of him, as usual.

“Uh, yeah. Just coming,” John muttered, folding the cheque to stuff into his wallet. He glanced up to say goodbye to Wilkes and was about to offer his hand when he noticed the gleam in the man’s eyes. John very nearly swore aloud.

“John,” Wilkes said, his voice seductive. “If you need anything, anything at all, just ring my direct line.” He reached out to take the hand John had started to extend and pressed a business card into it before clasping it firmly between both of his own. “I can see how it is between you two,” he whispered, nodding in Sherlock’s direction. “I know what he’s like and I know he can’t give an omega like you what you need.”

John looked down at their hands and then back up to meet Wilkes’ eyes, still stunned. The man shouldn’t be able to smell him, at least not as an omega. There was no denying it, though — Wilkes looked hungry. 

John felt bile rise at the back of his throat and had an urge to break the banker’s nose: not only was the man an arrogant sod, but he smelled like Marmite. John’s aversion had come on more quickly than usual, but he wasn’t about to question it. Not with an alpha like this.

“Right. Yup. Fine.” He withdrew his hand from the alpha’s firm grasp. He was about to say something definitive on the subject of Wilkes’ offer when suddenly Sherlock was there. John started as Sherlock grabbed his elbow. He fell against the detective’s side and was forced to look up, mouth a little slack with surprise, to see the two alphas in a silent standoff. He wondered just for a moment (a very fleeting one) what it would be like to have two alphas fighting over him.

Sherlock glared at Wilkes, whose smarmy grin had not faded.

John pulled himself together and cleared his throat. “Okay. Well, we’ve got some leads to follow.” He pushed his body weight into his detective, moving them toward the traders’ offices. “On our way now, thanks. We’ll be in touch.”


	6. The uncertainty principle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something has changed, and John is confused. But he still knows a cute beta when he meets one.

John was still a bit taken aback by Sherlock’s misguided territorial display (more so by his own perverse delight in it) when they reached Edward Van Coon’s flat. 

He’d been annoyed at the man for leaving him standing in the corridor outside the trader’s door while he searched on his own, but somehow their earlier encounter with Wilkes had made it so much worse. 

He did worry about Sherlock, and hated it when the man left him behind or left him out of things (if he’d take a poisoned pill to prove he was clever, god only knew what else he’d get up to left to his own devices). This, though, had been different.

John had felt a sharp pain — _real_ pain — in his chest at being separated from the man. Knowing Sherlock was inside Van Coon’s flat and not being able to get to him caused a physical response John had never experienced before. It was primal and potent and he had no idea where it was coming from.

He’d always been prepared for a time when he could go off the suppressants and share his heats with a beta partner (even most beta females were known to quite enjoy an omega’s heat and most of those he’d dated had seemed very interested in the prospect of helping him with the _other end_ ). He simply hadn’t counted on ever feeling so strongly for an alpha. He had, in truth, believed it impossible. 

It was very confusing.

So he’d been a little waspish about the suitcase and the dirty laundry. And he still was not in the best frame of mind when DI Dimmock stopped him as he made to follow Sherlock out of the flat.

“Dr. Watson,” the younger man asked pleasantly. His tone was suddenly much altered from his discussion with Sherlock. “Is there anything else I should know?”

John shook his head, returning the polite smile. “Not as far as I know. If he says it isn’t suicide, it probably isn’t. And, uh, sorry about…you know.” He gestured vaguely after Sherlock who’d left the room with a pompous declaration and a swirl of dark wool. “He — well, I expect Lestrade told you what he’s like.”

“He did,” Dimmock admitted. The DI glanced away, to where Sherlock had disappeared then looked back at John. His expression was softer, more intimate. John swallowed reflexively, easily recognizing the same sexual interest Wilkes had demonstrated now plainly evident on the DI’s face. What the hell was with the alphas today?

“This might be a bit forward, but I know you’re an unbonded omega…”

“Yes, it is bloody forward,” A deep voice barked from behind John.

John jumped at the alpha’s unexpected reappearance. “Jes — Sherlock!” He watched as the man’s eyes narrowed at Dimmock as he moved closer.

The DI looked puzzled. “Oh, but I thought you two were just colleagues…” 

“We are,” John interjected quickly. 

“Colleagues who share a flat,” Sherlock snapped. “I am sparing you the trouble. He’s not interested.”

“But how did you — hang about! Sherlock, I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself, thank you.”

“Precisely. He can speak for himself,” Dimmock rallied, stepping into Sherlock’s space.

John tried to position himself between the two alphas. “Okay, look, this is ridic —” 

“Is this what they teach the CID now?” Sherlock snarled. “Flirting? Certainly explains your inability to solve anything even remotely complicated without my help.”

Dimmock’s chest puffed out. “I don’t need your help to solve a _suicide_. And if Dr. Watson is not your mate or your partner, then my interest in him is none of your bloody business.”

“OI!” John shouted, more than a little angry now. “Just —” He glanced around at the other officers in the room before dropping his own voice. “Keep your bloody voices down. Last thing I need is everyone getting an earful…and I am standing _right here_. I do not need your help!” He was pointing at Sherlock now. “You — out. I will be right behind you in a minute.”

Sherlock’s nostrils flared and his lip curled, but after another baleful glance at the young DI, he spun and stomped from the room. John sighed heavily, turning his attention back to the eager young alpha beside him.

“Now, look, DI Dimmock,” he began quietly.

“Call me Matthew. Please,” the DI interrupted, beaming now.

“O…kay. Uh, so, Matthew, I don’t know how you figured out what I am…”

Dimmock looked puzzled. “I could smell you. Before, in the bedroom.”

John shook his head. “No, that isn’t possib — never mind. The thing is, I just…well, I don’t date alphas,” he explained patiently, carefully avoiding any mention of the fact that he was likely to find the young DI about as sexually appealing as a wedge of Stilton. “I know you can see I don’t have a bonding ring or a wedding band, and that makes me a pretty rare commodity. I realize that must be intriguing to a bond-broken alpha. You’re divorced?”

“Widowed,” the younger man said, looking quite crestfallen.

“Oh, right. I’m…sorry,” John muttered. “Anyway, you seem like a nice bloke, but I just don’t want to deal with all _this_ ,” he motioned in the general vicinity of the turf war he’d just been party to. “Without a bond, an alpha is just too…much…for me. But I’m flattered. I really am.”

Dimmock nodded sadly, carefully inspecting his shoes.

“So, I’ll just…I’ll make sure he keeps you in the loop, yeah?”

“Right. Thanks.”

“Good,” John nodded. “Pleasure to meet you and we’ll let you know what we find out.”

_____________________________

“I went to see about a job at that surgery.”

“How was it?” Sherlock asked from his perch near the desk. He hadn’t moved since John had left earlier that morning. The man hadn’t responded when he’d said he was going out, which John had chosen to interpret as a confirmation that he wouldn’t be needed for an hour or two.

John grinned to himself as he stared at the clutter around the mirror over the mantle. All manner of signs, ciphers and symbols stared back at him. “Great. She’s great,” he replied happily. 

He’d gone to the surgery expecting only a job interview, but instead: Sarah. She was funny, beautiful, bright, charming — everything he could ever hope for in a partner. Best of all, she’d been interested. And she hadn’t even flinched when he’d told her he was an omega.

“Who?”

John turned, schooling his features. He did not want to discuss this with Sherlock. “The job.”

“She?”

“It.”

“You said she.”

“Slip of the tongue,” John replied, trying to keep his tone light.

“Hardly,” Sherlock huffed. He studied John for a moment. “A beta female, and a doctor. She’s comfortable with an omega’s cycles and somewhat lesser assets. And the fact that you could never give her children. Great, indeed.”

John’s temper flared. “What the hell do you know about it?”

“Why a beta female? Why not a male? You prefer to give rather than receive? And why no alphas?” The detective regarded John over steepled fingers. “Ah! Trust — of course. Your alpha failed you. Didn’t come.”

“I am perfectly happy to give or receive, thank you very much. Not that it’s any of your bloody business!” John snapped. “And my alpha is _dead_.”

“Is that what they told you? Interesting.” Sherlock considered this. “But still…could you — oh, I see. You did try with a bond-broken alpha once — male, was it? — and it was a mistake. Perhaps even...” Sherlock’s expression darkened. “What did he do?”

“I don’t…can we please talk about the case or something?”

Sherlock stood, stepping close to John. “What did he do to you?” John could see the golden-green rings that wreathed his pupils.

“ _Really_ none of your business,” John said bluntly. “But he didn’t _do_ anything. We just didn’t get on. Hasn’t that ever happened to you?”

“No.”

“Pardon?”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched in the way it did when he was uncomfortable, or unwilling to admit there was something he didn’t know. “I have little to no experience with omegas, or anyone else for that matter. I wouldn’t know, though I have seen…during cases…” he cleared his throat. “Obviously he was not your intended, so you could not bond. You shared a heat?”

John shook his head, still reeling from Sherlock’s confession. “I tried. At first it was good, but then…I don’t know. It was as if my heat just…stopped. I thought I wanted it, but after a few minutes I couldn’t stand his scent and it just felt wrong,” John let out in a rush. “Which is why I don’t date alphas — my body isn’t interested. And frankly, I think I have the better bargain. Alphas are a pain in the arse without a bond. Betas are just easier.”

Sherlock’s entire body was rigid, the muscle in his jaw ticking. His nostrils flared and he moved so close to John that they were almost touching. He stared down into the shorter man’s eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

“What? No. No!” John watched Sherlock, unable to gauge the reason for his outrage. He would have predicted interest, at best, but Sherlock looked as though he could cheerfully murder someone. “He was angry and frustrated, but he didn’t hurt me. And anyway, someone came in time to prevent anything from happening.”

Sherlock’s mouth set in a hard line. “Who is he? What’s his name?” The alpha’s eyes were wild, pupils dilated; his breathing grew heavy. His hands had clenched into fists at his sides. John had never seen him so angry. “No point lying to me; I’ll use Mycroft to find him if I have to.”

“Oh, come on,” John started to smile until he realized the rage lighting his flatmate’s eyes was in no way feigned. “You can’t really be…Sherlock, it was ages ago. I came out of it, yeah?” He touched Sherlock’s arm gently. “I’ve spent years on suppressants — and years training in the army — to make sure nothing like that ever happens again. See? I’m all right.”

Sherlock looked down at the spot where John’s hand rested on his forearm. He laid his own hand over top and took a deep, ragged breath. He nodded slowly, the tension in his body releasing. 

“I’m fine. Everybody’s fine,” John soothed.

Sherlock withdrew, once more self-contained. He turned his back to stare out the window. “Why beta females in particular, then?”

John considered this for a moment. “I don’t think I made a conscious decision about beta women. I can’t seem to date alphas, so I date betas...and I pull more females than males. Not sure why.” 

Sherlock nodded. “They are responding to your charm. You are very disarming and give the appearance of a very gentle man, though of course we both know that is something of a misconception.”

“Oh, thanks very much.”

“I simply mean that you are a man of action; dangerous when necessary. Which, given your bedside manner, might not be readily apparent to most. And educated, career-oriented beta females would likely respond to an omega male as a less oppressive option. Even beta males can be ridiculously misogynistic at times.”

“Great. I’m safe.”

“There are worse things.” Sherlock shrugged, returning to sit at the desk facing John. “It doesn’t bother you — the idea of not having biological offspring?”

“Well, that isn’t going to happen anyway and it has nothing to do with who I date.”

John could almost hear the gears turning in Sherlock’s head as the man watched him. Finally he said simply, “You had internal injuries, when you were shot.”

“There was some permanent damage. Stray shrapnel, in my belly,” John shrugged. “It left some scarring, which means I won’t be able to — I can’t breed. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have an alpha and I hardly ever date beta males, which would be a long shot as it is. And frankly I was never really sold on the idea of having kids anyway.” 

“I see.”

The long silence was fraught with portent. John felt ridiculously conflicted. On the one hand, Sherlock’s concern and protective behaviour made him a bit…well, horny, if he were completely honest. Yet his mind kept returning to the pretty beta doctor from the surgery. (Sarah. Lovely name, that.)

“I’m…sorry.” Sherlock said finally.

“What for?”

“If I brought up unpleasant memories.”

John started to say something about Sherlock’s anger, but thought better of it. Most likely they would both be better off pretending it hadn’t happened. “I’m sure something will come along to take my mind off it. Like the case, for instance. Anything new?”

Sherlock watched him for a moment. It looked to John as though he were making a decision of some kind. “Yeah, have a look.” Sherlock nodded at the open laptop. John leaned down and read the headline in the open browser window.

“‘The intruder who can walk through walls.’”

“Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Door was locked, windows bolted from the inside — exactly the same as Van Coon.”

“God. You think…”

“He’s killed another one.”


	7. Shock and awe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kiss. In the dark.

“It’s been here since Monday,” Sherlock started, rubbing the damp pages of the telephone directory outside the flat next to the Lucky Cat Emporium. He rang the buzzer before finally giving up and disappearing into the lane. 

John grimaced but followed. Of course he did. Tagging along behind Sherlock Holmes was all he’d been about since they met; certainly since this case began. Not that he minded (not really).

He was still angry about the ASBO, but that hadn’t prevented him from doing as he was bid: fetching the journalist’s diary from a now somewhat hostile DI Dimmock before bumping into Sherlock outside the supposed smuggling drop point in Chinatown. 

At least the man could have let him finish his meal.

“No one’s been in that flat for at least three days.”

“Could’ve gone on holiday.” John offered, rushing to keep up with his longer-legged flatmate.

“Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?” Sherlock directed John’s attention to the window over the fire escape. Without a word, the alpha took a running leap and caught the escape staircase and pulled it down. He climbed the steps quickly.

John glanced about, hoping they hadn’t been seen. He turned back just in time to see the staircase ascending out of reach. “Sherlock!”

John cursed quietly and ran back to the front door, hoping against hope that the man wouldn’t leave him standing out on the pavement.

“ _Someone else has been here_!”

John could just make out Sherlock’s voice from the front street. “What? What are you...”? There was a long silence. John rang the buzzer. “Do you think maybe you could let me in this time?”

More silence. John paced, twitching with frustration — and the same aching pain in his chest he’d experienced at Van Coon’s. He needed to be with Sherlock, to make sure the man was all right. Had to. Had to.

He bent and shouted through the letterbox. “Can you not keep doing this, please?”

After another pause, John could hear the detective’s voice. He dropped and held the flap over the letterbox open. “What?”

“ _Someone’s been here before me_!”

“What are you saying?” John strained to follow whatever Sherlock was going on about, but the detective’s voice dropped and finally disappeared. John turned from the door, fists clenched. “I’m wasting my breath.”

He spun and leaned on the buzzer, a cold sweat now breaking out on his brow. John tried to regulate his breathing, to remain calm, but was failing quickly. After an age, he could hear scuffling from inside the flat. He bent and tried the letterbox once more. “Anytime you want to include me…”

There was a grunting noise but no reply. John began to feel very panicked. He paced back to the street.

“No,” he ranted. “I’m Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone, because no one else can compete with my —” He bent to shout through the letterbox. “Massive intellect!”

The noises from the flat stopped and John’s heart with them. He leaned on the doorbell once more. (Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock…) He backed up in preparation for an attempt at kicking the door in.

Finally, finally, the door opened. John could feel the blood returning to his extremities as he surveyed his flatmate. Something was wrong.

“The, uh, milk’s gone off and the washing’s starting to smell,” the detective croaked. “Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago.”

“Somebody?” John repeated, trying hard to resist the urge to touch, to feel, to reassure himself that the man was okay.

“Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her.”

“Uh, how exactly?”

Sherlock was bending to retrieve something from the doorway at their feet. John could see it was an envelope — it had been opened and had a hand-written note on the back. It must have been put through the letterbox.

Sherlock unfolded the paper to reveal a printed name. “Well, we could start with this.”

The man strode from the doorway; John hastened to keep up. But there was still the issue of…

“You’ve gone all croaky,” he insisted as Sherlock marched them back out to the main street. “Are you getting a cold?”

“I’m fine.”

John stared at the side of the man’s head, wishing like hell he could believe him.

______________________

“Answer your phone! I’ve been calling you!” John jogged to where Sherlock stood in the dark near a rail car. “I found it.”

Sherlock followed him back along the tracks to the bit of wall where John had seen their vital clue. 

They’d been outside for ages, since Sherlock’s street rat had called to let them know he’d spotted the killer’s paint at the Southbank Skate Park. John was still furious with the little beggar, but the lead had been a good one. It had taken him some time, but he’d finally found something significant.

He’d been so relieved not to feel anxiety when Sherlock decided they should split up that he’d been quite relaxed and focussed as he’d traversed the dim subways and rail yards.

He slowed now as they neared the spot and their torches caught the…brown bricks?

“I don’t understand. It was here. Ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole lot of graffiti.” John backed away from the wall, angry and defeated. 

“Somebody doesn’t want me to see it,” Sherlock muttered.

“I — oi, Sherlock, what are you doing?” The taller man had closed in and was grasping John’s head between his hands.

“Shh, John, concentrate,” Sherlock insisted. “I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes.”

“No, no, what — why? Why?” Sherlock was grasping at his upper arms now. “What are you doing?” John squeaked.

“I need you to maximize your visual memory.” Sherlock began to turn, spinning John in a wide circle. “Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you remember it?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Can you remember the pattern?”

“Yes!”

“How much can you remember it?”

“Look, don’t worry…”

“Because the average human memory, on visual matters, is only 62% accurate.”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry, I remember all of it.”

“Really?” The detective’s tone was entirely sceptical.

“Yeah, well, at least I would if I could get to my pockets,” John snapped, wrenching free from the nausea inducing, slow motion tornado. “I took a photograph.”

“Oh.” Sherlock took the phone and studied it, trying not to look flustered. “That was…good. Very…good. It…you…”

“Yes?” John prompted, taking the phone back. He was expecting to hear some kind of apology or perhaps a word or two of praise.

Sherlock lunged at him. John had no time to react, no time to avoid the pressure of his flatmate’s lips against his own, even if he’d wanted to.

Which he didn’t.

Sherlock groaned at the contact, returning his hands to cup John’s face and hold him prisoner for the unexpected caress. He slanted his mouth across John’s, teasing at the fullness of John’s bottom lip. 

John, for his part, leaned into the man’s embrace. He clutched at the lapel of his friend’s greatcoat with his free hand, easily able to feel the tremor as it shot through the alpha’s body. 

“Sherlock,” he murmured against the man’s mouth, parting his lips in invitation. It was wrong, but oh, god, how he wanted…

Sherlock did not hesitate, plunging his tongue into John’s willing mouth. It was a desperate, greedy act, as though he were trying to know all of John by taste alone. He teased and sucked and nibbled, nearly driving John mad. 

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

John’s eyes came open as the cold air hit him where he’d just been pressed into the lovely warmth of Sherlock’s body. The alpha was standing several feet away from him, staring at the ground. His eyes were wide and his breathing ragged.

“Sherlock?” He took a tentative step forward.

Sherlock backed away. “This is excellent work, John. W-we should go.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and strode back toward the main road.


	8. Best laid plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's in a muddle. He needs some advice, and Greg's just the omega to give it to him.

Soo Lin was dead and they hadn’t been able to protect her. 

They hadn’t known, of course, that the Black Lotus were following them. And it was likely Soo Lin’s brother would have found her regardless. Still, the soldier in John was having difficulty with it. 

He should have thought, should have gone back. He shouldn’t have left her alone. Instead, he had done what had become his default: he’d run headlong into danger to protect Sherlock. To be with Sherlock.

Sitting in the dark with Soo Lin, he’d been wracked with the same overwhelming urge to get to the alpha that he’d experienced at Van Coon’s and again at Soo Lin’s flat. He’d felt compelled to go to him, to be there for him. It was more than just the drive to defend from his years in the army or the care-giving instinct of an omega health care professional.

John _needed_ to be with Sherlock.

There hadn’t been time to deal with the kiss, of course. They’d run straight from the tracks to 221B and then to the museum. John was exhausted, but now couldn’t stop thinking about Sherlock’s mouth on his; the man’s hands on his body. That Sherlock somehow had become the focus of his entire life.

He thought again of Sarah, the lovely doctor at the surgery. He should want to ask her out, to date and woo her. But he could no longer think of anyone but his mad, brilliant, alpha flatmate. 

There was no question he was attracted to the man; he had been drawn to him from the very first. John’s run-ins with Wilkes and Dimmock had only served to highlight the fact that _nothing had happened to change this_. Sherlock’s scent was as intoxicating as it had been on the day John had met him and he still felt a tiny frisson of lust every time he looked at him.

Maybe, just maybe, Sherlock was the singular solution to his alpha problem. Which might have been the most depressing reality of John’s existence up until a week ago, given the man’s intolerance for anything sentimental. However Sherlock’s odd behaviour recently gave John every reason to believe the detective was attracted to him, too. 

This had led him to where he was tonight. With everything that had happened, John needed to talk to someone. He needed a friend.

After the brief set-to with Dimmock at Scotland Yard, John had left Sherlock to the morgue and made a call.

Now he sat at their favourite Chinese. He’d long since finished his late meal and had sat for another hour, just drinking tea and thinking. The owners were his friends now as well as Sherlock’s; they let him be and quietly replaced his teapot when it was empty. Clearly they could see he had a lot on his mind.

He pressed his lips together. He knew it was impossible, but he would swear he could still taste Sherlock. There was something utterly unique there.

Though it was also clear the idiot was sneaking cigarettes.

“Evening,” a deep voice rumbled nearby.

John glanced up to find Greg Lestrade in the process of pulling out the chair across from him. “Greg. Thanks for coming.”

“Not a problem. My case is finally wrapped up. How’s yours? Dimmock all right?”

“Uh, yeah, he…he’s fine.”

“Something wrong?”

“Well, no. Not really. He just, sort of, hit on me. A little.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Well, his mate’s been gone almost a year — poor kid. She died in childbirth. So he’s on his own now, with the little one to look after.” Greg dropped into the seat and pulled in close to the table. “And lately he’s developed a bit of a thing for older omegas. No offence.”

“None taken. I think,” John said wryly. 

“But how did he know about you, though? Did one of you tell him?” Greg’s brow furrowed. “‘Cause it wasn’t me. I just told him you worked with Sherlock — didn’t want him making a fuss about you being at the crime scene.”

John shook his head, leaning in. “Do I smell different to you?”

Greg sniffed thoughtfully. “No. Not really. Same sort of nothing kind of scent. Sort of beta-like.”

John sighed. “Maybe it was just a fluke. He said he could smell me, but…”

“You weren’t tempted?” Greg asked, his expression shrewd. “He is a nice lad.”

John snorted. “Wouldn’t have mattered if I was. Sherlock tried to hand him his head.” He lifted the pot to offer Greg some tea, but the man shook his head. “So Mycroft didn’t mind me taking you away so late?”

“Nah. He’s in a meeting with the German Chancellor.” Greg grinned, leaning forward on braced elbows. “I’m on my own for the night. At least.”

“You don’t mind the crazy hours?”

“If I’d minded that, never would have become a copper,” Greg chuckled. “Honestly, I’m not bothered when his job keeps him away. I’m proud of him and I like knowing he’s doing what he’s best at. He remembers to call when he can, so I know he’s all right and that he’s eating and sleeping. He’s always on time for our heats, though we are getting fewer of those these days,” Greg chuckled at that. “And being alone with a lager and the match is kind of nice now and again.”

“You’re really happy together.”

“We are, yeah. Now. We’ve had more than 20 years to work on it.”

“Right. So it wasn’t always…like this?” John blurted. He backtracked quickly. “Sorry, if this is none of my business…”

“Nah, you’re all right,” Greg assured him. “Practically family now.”

John blushed. _Actually_ blushed. He was mortified.

“No, we had a rough go of it in the beginning,” Greg started, unaware of or ignoring John’s emotional turmoil. He waved to the waiter passing by. “Could I get a coffee? Thanks.” He stole a fortune cookie off the plate in the centre of the table and cracked it open. “I wasn’t really all that excited about being an omega, you see. I didn’t care about the heats and bonding and that — it’s just there weren’t that many omegas on the force then, and it was the only thing I’d ever wanted to do. It was inconvenient. And My, well, he just wasn’t excited, full stop.”

“He didn’t want to bond?”

“God, no. Fought it for hours. He sat there in the room, huddled in the corner with his fists pressed into his eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch me desperately fucking myself with a dildo.”

“Shit.” John cleared his throat, trying not to visualise.

“Yeah. He wasn’t very well prepared. His parents were not around much and apparently they thought he’d have all the information he needed from school. They hadn’t even checked to make sure he’d met with his A/O counsellor.”

“He hadn’t?”

Greg shook his head, crunching through the last of his cookie. “He put off the appointment for mock UN meetings with his school, in Geneva. Didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“I’d have lost my mind without my AOC. Especially when my heat didn’t kick in at 16.”

“Your first heat was late, too?”

“Younger mate, like you. Well, even a little bigger gap than yours, actually. Or would have been. Probably. The bonding heat hit when I was 20.” John sighed. “Honestly, my parents were great, but I don’t know what I’d have done without my counsellor.”

Greg started to speak then stopped. His head dropped as though he were considering something.

“Greg? What’s wrong?”

The DI glanced up at John once more, his face clearing. “No, just…it’s not important right now.” He shook his head. “So anyway, when my scent markers finally started to reach My, he was alone at home. His parents were off in Marbella or something. He had no idea what to do. When the heat markers kicked in, he fell apart. One of the family’s drivers finally took pity — threw him into the car and just badgered Mycroft until the poor kid started telling him where to go.” 

John was chuckling a little. “How long did it take them to find you?”

“Over eight hours,” Greg groaned. “I thought I was going to die. I’d been waiting two years for my first heat as it was.”

“And then he…”

“Exactly. Then the bastard wouldn’t even fuck me.” He laughed. “My mum was so worried. He was so strange when he arrived, and there was no alpha parent with him. He signed the contract without really reading it. She told me afterwards she was afraid I was bonding with a lunatic. If it hadn’t been for his name and pedigree, she probably would have called for an intervention.” 

John grinned. “Lunatic, hmmm? Well, he is a Holmes.”

“Truer words…”

“So when did he give in?”

“He finally cracked after about three hours. My god, but the Holmes boys do have control.”

“That they do.”

Greg shrugged. “I felt guilty when it was over, though, like I had done something wrong. My was polite, but distant. He met every one of his contractual obligations, but he never touched me outside of heats. Not for almost six years.”

“Six _years_? But how?”

“Control, John,” Greg repeated. “And fear.”

John’s brow furrowed. “Mycroft Holmes comes from a wealthy, influential family and now…well, I don’t know exactly what he does, but I gather from Sherlock that he must be one of the most powerful people in Britain. What could he possibly have to be afraid of?”

“Love,” Greg replied frankly. He glanced up at their waiter with a smile of gratitude as a steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of him. “He hadn’t expected to love me. It scared him to death to feel so strongly for someone.”

“What changed?”

“He asked me if I was ready to have a child, and I told him I wouldn’t consider it with things as they were. In fact, I told him that if things didn’t change I would consider having our bond broken.” 

“That’s a pretty desperate step. Painful.”

“So is being bonded and being that alone,” Greg sighed, stirring sugar into his cup. “We’d been finishing school, and then I went straight into the force and My went to Cambridge — a couple of years early. We saw each other only at the weekend and end of term for four years. I kept thinking that was the reason; that it was because we were both so busy. But when things started to settle down and he was still keeping me at arm’s length, I knew something was wrong. And I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life that way.”

“What did he say?”

“I expected a fight, dominance behaviour, rough sex — something alpha.” Greg shook his head. “Instead he went white and fell down. I thought he was going to faint, but he started to cry.”

“Cry?” John tried to reconcile that image with his early impressions of Sherlock’s brother. “Really?”

“I know. Sounds impossible. If I hadn’t witnessed it, I wouldn’t believe it either. He just sat there on the ground clutching at his chest like he was having a heart attack and sobbing.” Greg swallowed hard. “I knelt there with him, gathered him in my arms and listened as it all came pouring out. He was so lonely, John. He and Sherlock were raised in such a cold, sterile environment; he didn’t understand how to love someone, or how to show it. He thought giving me my space and my freedom and being a good provider would demonstrate how important I was to him.” Greg dropped his gaze, his eyes a little misty. “I asked him for the words and I think it nearly broke him to say them, but he did it. And so did I. And that changed everything.”

John stared at the table, a sharp pang in his chest as he imagined Sherlock as a little boy with no one to give him a cuddle or tell him he was loved. “And then you had Gabriel.”

Greg beamed. “We did. We had our beautiful boy. And My and I are still together and it’s mostly really good. I mean every bond or marriage has its ups and downs, but we work hard to keep our friendship intact. The sex is the easy part.”

“Does he tell you he loves you now?”

Greg nodded. “He doesn’t say it as often as other people might, but he does. And he does say it to Gabe, and now to our son’s omega, Elizabeth, as well. We’re the most important people in his world, and for a man like him that is really saying something.” Greg swallowed a sip of coffee. “And of course he loves Sherlock, too, but don’t tell him I said that. It’s an unspoken thing we have. I know how much My cares about his brother, but I go along with the pretence that his ‘concern’ is really manipulation and interference. The great git actually enjoys his scary reputation.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Greg laughed. “Welcome to the Holmes family.”

“What? No, no.,” John backtracked, mentally cursing his transparency. “I am not joining — look, I just wanted to know how you get on as an omega in this life. As a copper, and as part of Sherlock’s, you know…madness.”

Greg smirked at him. “Okay, fine. You’re not interested in my brother-in-law. In spite of the fact that you gaze at him like he’s a demi-god, and follow him around with complete confidence regardless of whatever high-risk activity he gets you into. Oh, and you lick your lips a lot when you’re around him, by the way.”

“I do not!” John snapped. He bit his tongue hard to keep it from reflexively slipping between his lips.

“Do, too.” Greg took another sip of coffee. “Look, the attraction is pretty obvious and not just on your side. I’ve never seen Sherlock respond to anyone the way he responds to you. He laughs now. He listens to you and he actually cares about your opinion. And if his behaviour with Dimmock is any indication, I’d say he wants you as much as you want him.” Greg chuckled. “Don’t have to be bonded for sex to be good, right?”

“No,” John agreed hesitantly. “But without a bond, alphas can be…”

“They can be, but you seem to be pretty good at managing Sherlock. DS Warner overheard you ordering the man out of the room at Van Coon’s…and he said Sherlock _actually_ went!”

John smiled. “He did. No idea why though.”

“But he did,” Greg reiterated.

“Yeah, he did,” John muttered. He sipped his tea and tried to imagine what day-to-day life with Sherlock might be like with an added physical relationship. “Okay, so say the whole alpha thing did turn out to be all right. Even if I could ‘manage’ him, I do want more than sex. Always have. I want someone to build a life with. Someone I enjoy being with and share interests with. Someone who will be a friend as well as a…a…”

“Fuckbuddy?” Greg supplied with a smirk and an arched eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me you and Sherlock aren’t friends?”

John hesitated. It was true: he felt closer to his new friend Sherlock Holmes than he had to anyone he had ever slept with.

“’Cause from what I’ve seen, you guys are really good together. And this is Sherlock we’re talking about: he’s never been good with anybody.”

“I guess it isn’t completely out of the question,” John started, trying not to sound too eager. “I do have a small...issue, though.”

“Oh? What’s that?’

“I’ve never had any luck mating with alphas.” John sighed as he looked up to discover that Greg didn’t look in the least surprised. “Mycroft found out didn’t he? What, my military records?”

Greg nodded. “I — sorry. I’ve told him not to involve me when he does this, but this time he said it was about you.” Greg hesitated. “I like you, John. You’re good for Sherlock. If you are attracted to him, don’t you think it’s worth a try?”

John allowed this to sink in as he emptied his teacup. 

Greg finished his coffee and deposited the empty cup in its saucer. “You want each other and you already like each other. And I can tell you from personal experience with a Holmes that as much as he may try to monopolize your time, he’ll never ask you to give up being a doctor or helping him on cases.” He smiled kindly. “Makes perfect sense, really.”

“I suppose maybe it does,” John agreed. “I wish I knew more about him. I don’t even know how old he is, or — when is his birthday? No. Scratch that. You can have Mycroft send me an email with everything I should know.” John tapped his fingertips on the table. “I’d like to know what happened to his omega, though. He’s worked out my history, or most of it, but he never talks about his own. Do you know?”

Greg looked at John very strangely for a moment. “I don’t know very much. I was breeding then and I had a pretty bad time of it. I wasn’t very good at the whole thing, which is why Gabe is an only child. Couldn’t keep my blood pressure down so My sheltered me from a lot of things.” He hesitated. “I know Sherlock didn’t go to seek a mate, and I know he was admitted to rehab for the first time when he turned 17, though I’m pretty sure he’d been using for some time before that.”

“God, do you think he started using because his omega didn’t call?”

Greg bit his lip thoughtfully. “That’s what My thinks, but…I really think you should talk to Sherlock about it.”

John nodded. “What about Mycroft? Is he going to kidnap me again?”

“Naw,” Greg grinned at this. “I think he’s decided you’re trustworthy. And if he hasn’t, I’ll call off the dogs.”

“Right. Good. I have just one more question, then, if that’s okay. After what you told me about Mycroft…”

“You’re wondering about Sherlock,” Greg squared his jaw. “Fair question. Well, I’ve been around him since he was a kid. He was as happy and carefree as any other little boy when I first met him — different, though, as you might expect. Scary smart. As he grew up, I watched the light slowly drain out of him. He stopped trusting people, withdrew. Now his hide seems as thick and his emotions as repressed as Mycroft’s were. Self-preservation, I think.” Greg sighed. “But the good news is that you’ve already made your way inside his head. You’re different, John. So if you’re asking if I think Sherlock can love you, the answer is yes.”

John blinked. He hadn’t said the word; hadn’t even thought it. “I don’t know…if that…”

“Give it a bit. Don’t have to know _everything_ right now.” Greg stood. His smile was kind. “So what do you think?”

“I think…” John hesitated, a pleasant, bubbly feeling percolating inside him. He allowed himself to revisit his fantasies of Sherlock’s lovely body curled over and around his own. He thought about running his fingers through the thick, dark curls and kissing the Cupid’s Bow. Again. He thought about spending the rest of his life at Sherlock’s side and the possibility, someday (maybe), of a simple civil ceremony. He smiled to himself at the idea. It wasn’t the same as a bond, but it was still a commitment. “I think maybe I’m going to go home and seduce my flatmate.”

Greg chuckled. “Excellent plan. I like it.” He gestured to the door. “Come on. I’ll drop you back at 221B.”


	9. Giving in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex should be the easy part...

“What is all this?” John stood in the doorway to the sitting room, staring in dismay at the stacks of blue crates now filling the sitting room. “Sherlock?”

“Yes, what?” The man emerged from the kitchen wrapped in his bed sheet. 

“You…” John’s mouth went dry as the nearly translucent white linen slipped down, revealing the line of Sherlock’s back. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Not going out. Why?” The man tied the sheet in a large knot over his shoulder, in an attempt at a toga, and continued to his desk. John tried not to stare as the light fabric fluttered open at the side revealing a glimpse of lean torso and muscular leg.

“N-no reason.” John took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on keeping the blood from his groin.

Sherlock turned narrowed eyes in his direction. “Did you get what you needed from Lestrade?”

“Uh, yes,” John replied a bit sheepishly. Of course Sherlock would know where he’d been. And with whom.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment then turned back to the top crate of the stack nearest him. “I assume the pork was excellent, as usual.”

“It was.”

“Then if you are quite finished faffing about, we have work to do.”

“What are these?” John stepped in close, leaving only a hair’s breadth between them. He slipped his jacket off and threw it onto the sofa behind him. As he spun around again, Sherlock was opening the lid of the first crate and withdrawing a handful of books.

Sherlock glared at him. “I have to identify books for you now?”

“No need to be peevish,” John replied calmly. “I meant the containers. _Now_ I can see they’re filled with books.”

“Van Coon’s and Lukis’. Dimmock kindly had them brought over. Oh, he asked me to apologize to you on his behalf. For his ‘rudeness’ earlier this evening.” Sherlock’s tone was snide. His lips twitched as he turned back to the crate he’d already opened. 

John rolled his eyes. “And the books?”

“The numbers are references.”

“To books.”

“To specific pages and specific words on those pages.”

“Right, so, 15 and 1, that means…”

“Turn to page 15 and it’s the first word you read.”

“Okay. So what’s the message?”

“Depends on the book,” the detective patronized. “That’s the fiendish cunning of the book code. Has to be one they both own.”

John glanced around at the number of crates. “Right. Well, this shouldn’t take too long, should it?”

Sherlock ignored him as he started to check titles.

“Sherlock, about the other night —”

“Don’t.” the man snapped.

“But I just wanted to say…”

“Whatever it is will be regretful — boring — or dripping with cloying sentiment — repulsive,” Sherlock drawled. “Obviously I have no interest in either.”

John was stung, but recovered quickly as he recalled Greg’s description of the Holmes’ childhood and Mycroft’s fear of relationships. He stewed for a moment, considering his options. Perhaps he would give it some time and attempt to broach the subject again later. 

He was about to ask where he should start with the books when Sherlock froze. 

“Why do you smell like that?” Sherlock’s expression when he turned to face John was accusatory. 

John blinked. “Like what?”

“Like an omega.”

“I _am_ an omega.”

“A _suppressed_ omega. You have been living on medication for years,” Sherlock growled. “Why can I smell you?”

“You said before you could tell what I was by my scent.”

“That was different. Your scent was very conspicuously faint and muddled, which the unobservant would tend to assume means you are a beta. This, though…I can smell an unclaimed omega very clearly. Why?”

“Well, I don’t know, do I?” John said defensively. He took a step away from Sherlock’s advancing scowl. “And I’m surprised you can smell anything at all what with the _smoking_.”

“Oh, oh, that’s very good,” Sherlock purred. “You actually figured that out, did you? Well, you really are full of surprises.” 

Sherlock continued forward, backing John up until they had reached the window. John’s backside and then his shoulders bumped into the glass. He gasped a little as the taller man continued to encroach. 

“John, you…”

John tried to remain calm in the face of his confused and obviously aroused alpha flatmate. He should be worried. Strangely, he wasn’t. 

Perhaps the whole idea really wasn’t so far-fetched. 

“Sherlock,” he began cautiously. “What do you want?”

The detective loomed over him, his stare relentless, and John suddenly felt every inch the omega. His own guarded stance instantly relaxed. His hands dropped and he allowed Sherlock in. 

God help him, this was what he wanted: surrender. To Sherlock.

“John.”

John’s breathing became rapid and shallow at the sound of his name. He knew his pupils would be dilated. His lips parted slightly, moistened by the damning appearance of his Pavlovian tongue. He inhaled the smell that had become so familiar, savouring the smoky, acidic, herbal scent of the half-naked alpha in front of him. 

“Why?” Sherlock rumbled. His pupils were dilated, too, John noted. “Why can’t I ignore you? Why do I want to touch you, taste you? Why do I…?” Sherlock’s voice trailed off. 

“B-because you’re attracted to me,” John whispered. “It’s okay, Sherlock. I’m attracted to you, too.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I talk to you when you aren’t at home. I think about what you will say when I am rude or short-tempered with morons. I trust you to catch up with my train of thought on cases, faster than anyone else ever has. I have to know your opinion, even if I don’t require it. I _need_ you.”

“But that’s okay,” John said softly. He gently placed a hand on Sherlock’s narrow hip and pulled him in tight. “It’s okay to need someone,” he whispered.

“John, I want…I want…”

“So do I.” He placed a tentative palm against the man’s chest. He inclined his head toward the lovely, pale column of Sherlock’s throat so he could breathe in the man’s scent. “So very badly.”

There was a broken, frustrated, angry noise vibrating from Sherlock’s chest as the alpha finally bent and claimed John’s mouth. A long-fingered hand held John firmly by the nape as the full, slightly chapped lips covered his own. There was no tentativeness. No tenderness. This was not a question; it was a demand.

Sherlock pressed John’s body back into the window, wrapping his other arm around his doctor’s waist. A hand splayed over John’s back and he relished the pressure of fingertips that pulled him tighter, closer. Sherlock slanted their mouths together, not waiting for an invitation but rather plunging his tongue within.

John gasped at the intrusion, but quickly caught up. He sucked on Sherlock’s tongue, mimicking the action he would like to take somewhere much lower.

With one hand fisted in Sherlock’s sheet, John used the other to slide around to the open side and delve within. His fingertips danced over warm flesh, tracing the line of ribs, the smooth abdominal plane and the trail of hair leading to Sherlock’s cock.

Sherlock broke their kiss to moan as John’s fingers wrapped around him. He stared into John’s eyes, lips swollen and pink — as John imagined his own would be — and slightly parted. “John…”

“Yes, love,” John breathed. “Yes. Please, yes.”

Sherlock kissed him again and arched into his hand as John continued to stroke him. John smoothed his hand over the head and then back down the shaft. The half-hard flesh firmed with his touch. 

For his part, Sherlock began to seek some way to remove John’s clothing. His fingers moved from their previous holds and began to fumble with shirt buttons. He managed to get them undone, nibbling at John’s bottom lip. 

“Good,” Sherlock rasped against John’s cheek. His hips were moving of their own accord, thrusting his now-dripping prick into John’s fist. “You are so good. So lovely. I want to touch you everywhere.”

“God, yes,” John groaned. He gasped as Sherlock’s fingers found his nipple, squeezing gently and then tentatively tugging. John’s already swollen cock twitched and he began to feel a tell-tale warmth in his rear passage. 

But that was…not right. That should happen only when he was approaching heat, which had not happened since he was 23. His body should not be responding to sexual stimulation that way. 

Then Sherlock’s fingers were at the waistband of his trousers and John lost track of his thoughts altogether

He hummed his approval, shifting his hips to aid in the swift removal of trousers and pants, and within minutes John found himself naked in front of the window (and God and everybody) save for his open shirt. Sherlock was staring at his bared body.

“John, you…you’re perfect.” He dragged his fingers over John’s hip, hissing with pleasure as John’s hand stimulated his fraenulum. “ _There_. Yes. Oh, god.”

Sherlock’s hand found John’s penis and began a tentative caress. John gasped as Sherlock reached around with his other hand and began to knead John’s bottom. John’s knees began to buckle. He took the opportunity to do what he’d been dreaming about.

He freed himself from Sherlock’s grasp and dropped to the floor. He struggled with the sheet until it was dramatically lifted and thrown over his head. Sherlock’s hand snuck back under the cocoon through the gap in the side and stroked John’s head as the doctor’s lips sought the place his hand had just been.

“JOHN!” Sherlock’s voice was gruff with desire. And surprise. John felt a thrill of pride that he was the first person ever to pleasure the man this way.  

John tasted the large alpha cock first, gently curling around the glans and swirling its shape with his tongue.

“Oh, my god…I — John…so good. I can’t…” 

He slid his warm, wet, open mouth first down one side of the shaft and then the other. He cupped Sherlock’s sac in his hand and massaged gently. He hummed his approval as Sherlock’s fingers threaded through his hair.

The strong thighs trembled a bit as John eased his lips over the head once more.

John stretched his mouth around Sherlock’s cock and sucked it in as best he could, using his hand at the base to pump over what he could not take in, including the unformed knot — which was firmer than it ought to be without the influence of a heat. He hollowed out his cheeks and allowed his tongue to flatten out against the underside. 

“Fuck…” Sherlock growled, hips canting forward involuntarily.

John slid back off to suckle the glans and tease the man’s slit for a moment. He inhaled through his nose, sucking in air and a deeper, muskier version of Sherlock’s scent. A moan was lost at the back of his throat.

John’s eyes fluttered closed as he eased himself back down the significant length of the engorged cock again, taking it as deeply as he was able. He struggled for breath, concentrating on staying calm and keeping the girth from the very back of his throat. He was not prepared to risk even attempting to deep throat.

He tongued the throbbing flesh as he drew off and bobbed in once more. He repeated the action, finding a comfortable rhythm. Sherlock kept his hand on John’s head — whether as a caress or to maintain his equilibrium, John wasn’t sure. The alpha murmured softly throughout, gasping and calling John’s name. 

How long they continued John didn’t know, but soon his jaw was sore and his own cock aching for release. He freed Sherlock with a slurp and placed soft kisses over the man’s hips and belly as he tried to tug him down to the floor.

Finally Sherlock caught on, sinking to his knees and tearing at the sheet until the knot came loose. He threw it behind him and grabbed for John. He captured his doctor’s face between his hands, as he had by the tracks. Face to face, they kissed once more. It was wet and noisy, and John loved it.

Sherlock grasped his shoulders and tilted them both down to the floor onto their sides, and then rolled until John was beneath him. He panted as he awkwardly attempted to align their bodies. John obliged, shifting slightly until their cocks slid together. But they were hot and his saliva had already begun to dry on Sherlock’s body.

He laved his palm and quickly pressed his hand between them. He slicked them both as best he could and then attempted to grasp them together as their bodies ground against one another. Sherlock grunted, bracing himself on one hand beside John’s head and using the other to complete and tighten John’s grip.

“Fuck, yes!” John cried, head thrown back and eyes closed. “Oh, Sherlock, oh god, love, oh more, please, more, uunnngh…there!”

Sherlock dropped his forehead to John’s as he rocked above him.

“John, I — oh, god!”

The sweet, just-slightly-wet friction of hard flesh against itself and trapped between tight fingers was very soon too much for John. He could feel his body tightening in expectation of orgasm. The heat in his rear passage was very nearly unbearable.

“Have to come…s-sorry…”

“S’okay,” Sherlock mumbled. He continued to move, but between their bodies he used his thumb on John’s slit. “Want you to.”

John shouted as he climaxed, arching into Sherlock’s body above him. His free hand grabbed at Sherlock’s shoulder; clinging to it as an anchor while waves of pleasure washed over him.

Sherlock’s lips were at his temple and the man was whispering something John could not really hear. As he came back to himself, he felt Sherlock’s body spasm and the evidence of the man’s orgasm spurt between them as well.

He turned his head and nuzzled into the man’s neck. He wrapped both arms around Sherlock and dragged him down into his embrace. Their hips continued a gentle pulsing motion as they clung together in the afterglow.

Sherlock should have been too heavy, but John relished his weight and the feeling of the alpha body weighing him down. 

This alpha body. _His_ Sherlock. 

Sherlock trailed soft kisses over his clavicle and then buried his nose in John’s throat. He licked and sucked at the sensitive skin over John’s scent gland. 

John let his body melt into his lover’s embrace. He yawned, suddenly feeling very sleepy. When he drifted off, it was with his fingers threaded through the inky curls resting on his shoulder.

When he finally woke, he was covered with a thick duvet; the flag pillow had been tucked beneath his head.

John sat up, startled to discover the early morning sun streaming through the windows. Sherlock had clearly been awake for some time and back at work on the books. There were stacks everywhere.

“Ah, you’re up.”

He turned to see Sherlock emerging from the kitchen. He was dressed, his hair still damp from the shower, and he was already drinking his coffee.

“I — yeah. How long have you been up?” John stood, suddenly feeling very awkward about his lack of pants. He wrapped the duvet around his lower half.

“Three hours or so,” Sherlock replied, not looking up. He dropped into the chair in front of his makeshift desk and immediately set to typing on his laptop. “You’ll want to shower. You have to be at the clinic at 8.”

John glanced at his watch, puzzled. “Right. I-I guess I should go.”

Sherlock shrugged, taking another sip of coffee. “You insisted on taking the job. I suppose you’re obligated now. And, of course, this will provide another opportunity to flirt with your beta doctor.”

John frowned, taking a few shuffling steps toward the desk. “Sarah? What — Sherlock, what are you talking about? Why would I want to flirt with Sarah?”

“Oh, is that her name? Bit boring, but I suppose…” Sherlock shrugged. “As to why you would want to flirt — I have no idea. Her charm, wit, beauty, lush breasts…what is it you usually look for in a sexual partner?”

John’s face flushed. “I am not looking for a sexual partner, you berk. Not anymore.”

Sherlock’s expression was utterly devoid of emotion. “Whyever not? You did betray some interest in this doctor.”

“So last night…?” John’s tone was puzzled. “We made love, Sherlock! Right there, on the floor. We kissed and sucked and stroked each other until we both came. And I would do it again right now if I had time. I want you, and I think, well, I think I might lo —”

“Don’t say that,” Sherlock snapped, a cautionary hand raised. “Do not say something that will only cause one of us to feel embarrassed and the other guilty. I made my feelings on this subject very clear when we met. Last night was pleasant and it very obviously met a need for each of us. I, for one, see no need to clutter up a natural, healthy, mutually satisfactory sexual encounter with an unnecessary emotional entanglement.”

John could feel tears welling, in spite of his anger. He pointed an accusing finger. “You made a production out of my ‘betraying interest’ in Sarah and you nearly started a cock fight with Dimmock just for trying to ask me out. You wouldn’t even leave me in the same room with your old friend Sebastian.” John swallowed hard. “You made everyone, including me, think you were claiming me. And now…now you’re telling me it was just some kind of a random biological urge?” His voice broke. “Explain this to me, please, because I just…I just don’t understand what’s happening right now. Last night, I thought things had changed. I thought we would be…us.”

Sherlock cleared his throat, but refused to meet John’s eyes. “I apologize if I’ve done or said anything to make you believe that my convictions about relationships had changed. I enjoyed last night. I am grateful and I hope it was pleasant for you, too. But that is all it can or will ever mean to me.”

John’s stomach clenched. “You are a bastard, Sherlock Holmes. I know you don’t mean what you’re saying, but you’re saying it anyway and that makes it worse.” He took a shuddering breath. “I’m going to work now. I’ll start looking for another flat in the morning.”

John fled to the bathroom, refusing to fall apart until he was alone. He slammed the door behind him and leaned against it. A few tears slipped free and he swiped viciously at them. He would not be reduced to this. He would not allow another alpha to disrupt his life. He’d been disappointed once and he’d survived that. He’d been threatened, too, but he’d managed to get out alive and to move on.

Somehow, this was proving to be more painful, but by god he’d get through it as well. 

He reached into the shower and turned the water on. He shed the shirt from the previous night that was still covering his arms and dropped it on the floor. He had no desire to try to get the come stains out of it.

John stepped under the water, trying concentrate on the clinic and Sarah and anything other than the men sitting out in the other room. He began to soap his body.

As he was about to scrub his nether regions, he was prompted by a memory from the night before. Curious, and a little concerned, he slid his fingers between the cheeks of his bum and immediately pulled them back, shocked.

John stared at the sticky traces of anal lubrication on his hand. 

“But that isn’t possible.”


	10. A death-defying act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John does not have time to contemplate his disappointment.

“Well, maybe it _shouldn’t_ be possible, but it is happening.”

John allowed Sarah’s words to soak in. “You’re sure?”

His new friend and employer smiled at him. “I may not be an andrologist, but I know the signs. First you fell asleep in your exam room today…”

“I’m really just so embarrassed about that,” John began. “I know it was my first shift. I’m sorry you ended up taking my patients.”

“It’s fine, John,” Sarah replied kindly. “Also your blood pressure is low, your heart rate is a bit high and your body temperature is elevated. If I take that along with the lubrication, I’d say you are due for a heat in about five, maybe six hours. But we can do the blood work if you want.”

John shook his head, baffled. “I’ve been on suppressants for 17 years, since shortly after my first heat. How can they be failing?”

Sarah frowned a little. “I suppose your body may have built up a resistance to them. I haven’t heard of that happening, but then omegas aren’t usually on suppressants for such an extended period.” She flipped her laptop open on the counter beside her and began to type. “Have you been off them at all, even for a few days?”

“Once, when I was 23.” John’s voice dropped. 

“Did you share your heat?”

“Not exactly.”

“John...”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m not sure how much help I can be to you if I don’t have all the pertinent facts.”

John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I planned to, but it didn’t work out.” He glanced up to find the doctor watching him.

“I get the feeling there is something significant about that,” Sarah said, one brow raised. “What happened?”

John sighed, resigning himself to sharing such intimate details with someone he’d really only just met. “My parents had passed away and I’d fallen into a bit of a depression.” 

Sarah nodded, looking up from her keyboard. “And?”

“My younger sister started drinking heavily, and it felt as if my whole world was falling apart; as though I was losing what little was left of my family.” John crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the sting of remembered bitterness. “And by rights, I should have had a mate by then. I shouldn’t have been on my own.”

Sarah ceased typing watching him with kind eyes. “Had there been anyone...?”

“I’d had a couple of girlfriends.”

“Alphas, betas...?”

“Betas,” John confirmed. “But after my parents, I was...angry. And lonely. I decided I wanted to do more than just get off with someone. I wanted to experience a heat — a proper omega heat. So I went off the suppressants and went down the pub looking for an alpha.”

“Oh, John.”

“I know. Stupid.”

“Very,” Sarah muttered.

“I guess I was lucky. Sort of.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“It started off fine, but then…” John flushed a little. “He was not — honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting. He was all right, I guess, for a stranger. He didn’t hurt me, though he was pretty put out. For some reason, my heat just...stopped.”

“Stopped? Your heat _stopped_? Are you joking?”

“I know it sounds mad. Believe me, I’ve had this discussion with the specialist the army AO therapist sent me to.”

“Why...?”

John waved a hand. “I’d tried dating another alpha and it went the same way. I didn’t attempt to share my heat, but even so I couldn’t...I just couldn’t...” John sighed. “Anyway, the andrologist couldn’t find any physiological reason for it.”

“So what’s changed, then? Is there anything you are doing differently, something that may have an impact on your suppressants?” Sarah turned her laptop to face him. “Otherwise, I really don’t know what to tell you. I’ve been searching here for anything on this, and there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of research available. Like I said: not many omegas in your situation. Most use suppressants only sporadically to prevent pregnancy throughout their fertile phase, which is shorter for male omegas anyway. As you know, of course, suppressants are still more reliable than even the new birth control. Generally, though, omegas mate — or marry — and experience oestrus until meno- or andropause.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic. As if I wasn’t odd enough already.”

“What about the lubrication? Clearly your body was responding to sexual stimuli.” Sarah gave him a curious look. “Were you…”

John flushed again, dropping his gaze back to the floor. “No.”

“So you were…with someone?”

John nodded.

“Oh. Well, okay.” Sarah exhaled heavily. John could tell she was trying not to sound disappointed. “Who was it?”

John allowed the question hang in the air.

“John?”

“Does it matter?”

“You’ve asked me to act as your physician, John.”

John shook his head.

“Can you at least tell me if it was a beta?”

“No,” John muttered.

“You tried again with an alpha?”

John flushed again. “More than tried.” 

“But — are you saying you’ve actually managed to have sex with an alpha for the first time in your life?” 

John nodded.

“But you still have _no idea_ what could be causing your body to react like this,” Sarah’s tone was a little chastising. She crossed her arms; her expression was dubious.

“How could it, though?” John grumbled. “Why _now_? After all this time? And how could that possibly override the meds?”

“Well, I don’t know. But it’s the only thing that makes sense.” Her features softened a little as John rubbed a fretful hand over his brow. “Who was it, John? Is it someone you’ve just met, or...?” Sarah’s eyes widened. “Oh! So you and your flatmate...”

“Well, yes. H-how did you know about him?”

“I looked you up. Found your blog,” she teased gently. “Can’t be too careful about the people you hire these days.”

“Right.”

“Has it been going on long?”

John shook his head sadly. “Just happened. And, apparently, it’s going to be a one-off.”

“But you’re going into heat,” Sarah started, hesitating when she looked at his face again. John knew he must appear as sad as he was feeling. “I’m sorry, John.”

“I knew — should have known — what I was doing. He told me he had no interest in relationships. I just assumed that was bitterness, because his own omega had never called for him. But I was stupid enough to think if we wanted each other, if I could actually...that might be enough to…well, you know.” He squared his shoulders. “Anyway, I’ll manage. I’ve been through a heat on my own before. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m not so sure it will be, honestly,” Sarah replied. “This long on suppressants, your body may not respond well to a full heat. I don’t know if it would be wise to try and go it alone.” She laid a gentle hand on his thigh. “Does he know? Maybe if he knows that he’s initiated a heat, he might want to —”

“No. He wouldn’t. He doesn’t. I’ll just have to find out how bad it will be.”

“John, you really should be admitted to the omega clinic at St. Mary’s for observation.”

“No!” John took a deep breath, his cheeks warm. “Sorry, it’s just…this is bad enough without a team of doctors hovering around me.”

Sarah cleared her throat. “Right. Sorry.” She considered this for a moment. “Would you let me help you then? You could come to mine. I could keep you sedated and monitor your vitals. Then if anything does go wrong, I could still get you to the clinic.”

“Well — damn it. Sorry.” John pulled the phone from his pocket and slid his thumb over the screen to silence the text alert noise. He opened the message, scoffing almost instantly.

“What it is?” Sarah asked softly.

“I can’t…that absolute tosser.”

“Ah. Your flatmate, then.”

John slid from the exam table, twitching with anger. “How could he think I would just…after what he said?”

“What does he want?”

“He’s sent me directions to meet him at a…a…a Chinese circus. Can you believe that? As if we can just pick up where we left off. I told him I was moving out!”

Sarah was wearing her best bedside manner face as she laid calming hands on John’s shoulders. “You don’t have to go.”

“I know that. I know. And I shouldn’t. I should get somewhere safe, and prepare for however awful the next three to five days are going to be, but…”

“But?”

John chewed his lip. “There was a girl killed. I met her, spoke with her. She was sweet and scared and I just want to help find whoever was responsible for her death. Sherlock will find them, but it won’t be the same. Not for him. And if it’s the last time…” John looked at his new friend for a moment. “Stupid, right?”

Sarah watched him for a minute then shook her head. She turned and retrieved her jacket from the back of the door. “Why don’t you ring and see if you can get one more ticket to this thing. It’s years since anyone took me to the circus.”

John grinned. “You’d really do that? For me?”

“As long as you let me take you to my place in time for your heat, so I can take care of my new favourite patient, yes.” She tucked her arm through his and pulled him toward the clinic door.

____________________________

John collected the tickets from the venue box office, one in Sarah’s name and two in Sherlock’s (bastard). The detective found them there, and looked more than a little put out by the tag-along for their evening. Fortunately Sarah was not intimidated by his terse introduction, icy stare and rude comments.

As they stood in the weird, candle-lit hall, John could feel the detective right behind him. Worse, he could smell the man. And it was playing havoc with his system.

“You said ‘circus,’” John whispered grumpily over his shoulder. “This is not a circus — look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is…art.”

“This is not their day job,” the taller man hissed.

“Oh sorry. I forgot. They’re not a circus; they’re a gang of international smugglers.” He shook his head, trying to concentrate on Sarah’s comforting presence beside him.

He was prevented from further comment as the performers appeared. John tried to relax and enjoy the strange escape act, but the feel of Sherlock’s breath on the back of his neck and the rich timbre of his voice in John’s ear as the detective explained it was unbelievably sensual.

He was more than a little grateful when Sarah, sensing his discomfort, tucked her arm through his and pulled him close to her side. She allowed him to lean into her.

John felt remarkably guilty, though. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.

“I know,” Sarah answered softly. “Just let me help, okay?”

“I appreciate it, but my — I’m not that far along.”

She smiled at him and shook her head. “Even male _omegas_ can be thick,” she muttered. She glanced back at Sherlock, who was now glaring at her, before she leaned in and whispered right into John’s ear. “I’m trying to help with your broken heart.”

They watched as the sand drained from the bag and the performer struggled with his chains. Finally, as he escaped and narrowly avoided the crossbow bolt, John realized something was wrong. He turned to discover that Sherlock had disappeared.

“Are you all right?” Sarah asked quietly, as the next act was introduced.

“Fine,” John ground out. “Why?”

“John, you’re shaking. Your hands have gone clammy and I can feel the tension in your body,” she said gently. She looked behind them, noting the detective’s absence. “Are you sure you don’t want to ask him…”

“No. No, I can’t.” John pointed at the man who’d just spun from the ceiling from two long strips of fabric. “Did you see that?”

He swallowed hard letting his eyes track the movements of the airborne acrobat. He was suffering from the same separation anxiety he’d experienced before, but it had become worse. He was very nearly breathless with the need to be wherever Sherlock was. 

He was about to explain to Sarah when Sherlock suddenly crashed through the stage curtain with one of the performers. John moved without thinking, running to attack the man who was threatening the detective. 

He was kicked to the side, but before he could get back up he was surprised to see Sarah jumping into the fray. She’d pulled the crossbow bolt from the wooden target and was beating Sherlock’s opponent over the head with it.

John struggled to his feet, still feeling weak from Sherlock’s departure. He thought about pursuing the other performers as they fled, but reconsidered — in his condition he would never catch them. He was reaching for his mobile to call Dimmock when Sherlock jumped up. He grabbed John and Sarah by the hand and ran for the door.

“Come on!”

When they arrived at the Yard some time later, John was still puzzling over whether Sherlock’s action had been an attempt to protect them or to chase the other suspects. One could never be too sure. 

He’d managed to call Dimmock from their cab; unfortunately the man was not happy to see them when they arrived. The two cars he’d sent had found the old hall deserted; every trace of the circus (or smugglers) was gone.

Sarah had tried to convince John to go straight back to hers then, but Sherlock had insisted they share a cab and drop him first. 

“I can’t be more than a few minutes out of your way,” he said to Sarah as he continued to settle himself between them. John was trying not to let his body touch the man beside him, but it was impossible. The churning in his guts picked up pace; his heat was coming on faster than they’d thought.

“But how do you know where...?”

“Don’t ask,” John interrupted. “Please.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He pulled the photo of the wall John had found, the photo they’d taken to Soo Lin — now in an evidence bag, courtesy of DI Dimmock — from his pocket.

“What are these squiggles?” Sarah asked, leaning in.

“They’re numbers,” Sherlock replied, barely civil. “An ancient Chinese dialect.”

“Oh, right, well. Of course I should have known that.” She studied the photo, ignoring Sherlock’s irritation. “So these numbers — it’s a cipher.”

“Exactly.”

“And each pair of numbers is a word.”

If he hadn’t been so uncomfortable, John might have laughed out loud at the astonishment on the man’s face. “How did you know that?”

“Well, two words have already been translated,” Sarah said. She pointed at the photo. “There.”

“John…Soo Lin had already started to translate it for us. We missed it! Driver, wait —” Sherlock looked out the window. “Oh, almost home. Never mind. You two go on. I’ll get another cab.”

“Another…Sherlock where are you going?”

The cab pulled to a stop outside their flat and Sherlock immediately clambered over Sarah’s lap and threw the door open. 

“Sherlock, wait!” John jumped out of the cab behind him, intending to follow. He would have if Sarah hadn’t grabbed his arm.

“Hey,” she said gently turning him back to face her where she stood at the cab door. “You can’t go with him, John. Not this time. Okay?”  

John started to protest — his entire system was in uproar and he simply couldn’t think what it was he ought to do. Every fibre of his being told him to stick close to the alpha who was now hastening away from him; striding down the pavement to the next cross street.

“We need to get you somewhere safe, remember?”

John nodded. He slumped a little, allowing Sarah to rub his arms.

“I should just…”

“What is it?”

“Since we’re here, and I’m going to be away for a bit, I should maybe grab a couple of things.”

Sarah nodded, her smile kind. “Sure. I’ll wait right here.”

John turned and walked the few feet to the door of 221B. He fumbled with the key, startled when the door was wrenched open. A hooded man stood in the entry, which was as dark as the corridor behind him.

“Do you have it?”

“What the — are you a friend of Mrs. Hudson’s? Why are the lights out?”

“Do you have the treasure?!”

“I don’t understand.”

The blow was swift. He heard Sarah call his name as he fell. 


	11. Cards on the table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now it all makes sense...

“It’s all right. It’s going to be all right now.”

Sherlock struggled with Sarah’s bonds as she fought to regain her composure. When he’d finally freed her hands, he reached for the gag.

“JOHN!” She cried. She ignored the man in front of her, trying to shove him out of the way as she stood. “John!”

John was still conscious and he’d managed to see that Sarah was all right, in spite of his dizziness and the blood that dripped from the wound above his temple. And the increasing thick-headedness from his impending heat. 

Sherlock had come. He’d arrived in time to prevent…John didn’t even want to consider what might have happened to Sarah. 

Somehow, General Shan and the Black Lotus had come to the mistaken conclusion that he was Sherlock Holmes. The kidnapping and subsequent interrogation, which did involve Sarah being threatened by the giant crossbow from the circus act, had taxed John’s already weakened constitution.

Still, he’d managed to stay alert enough to respond to their questions, and to be overwhelmed with relief as his alpha (when had he started thinking of Sherlock that way?) arrived. He’d even managed to save his new friend’s life (and Sherlock’s) by redirecting the crossbow at the last moment.

Now, as he lay on the floor still bound to his chair, he could feel his body sinking beneath the weight of biological need. He was out of time.

He watched Sarah push past Sherlock and drop to the ground at his head, sliding in to cradle it in her hands. 

“Hey you,” she said softly. She tugged a tissue from her pocket and pressed it against the bleeding. 

Sherlock visibly flinched as he stood nearby. John tried to focus on Sarah, and her touch on his brow, but he was hit with a powerful dose of Sherlock’s scent. He groaned as his body responded to the presence of the alpha. He could feel the heat building in his belly and the dampness beginning to seep between his arse cheeks.

“Not long,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “Have to get out of here.”

“Okay, John. It’s okay. We’ll get you somewhere safe. I promise.” Sarah turned on Sherlock who’d remained near her chair. “You: don’t just stand there. Get over here and look after him. Untie his hands.”

Sherlock jumped, astonishing John as he moved to act on the beta’s command. Sarah and Sherlock regarded each other over John’s body as Sherlock knelt behind him to undo the ropes.

“Your pupils are dilated,” Sarah observed blandly.

“What’s wrong with John?” Sherlock sounded uncharacteristically bewildered. And concerned. He sat back when John was free. John immediately wrapped both arms around his middle and curled in on himself. “Something is wrong with him; with me. I don’t feel…”

“Somehow you’ve managed to induce a heat, you pillock,” Sarah snapped.

“ _Heat_?” Sherlock’s voice was absolutely panicked. The detective reared back, sprawling away from John as though the other man were on fire. “But…how can that be?”

“No idea, but it’s happening.”

“I don’t want — I’ve never wanted…”

“Tough,” Sarah said shortly. She turned at the sound of approaching sirens and running feet. “You’ve messed him about and now you are going to see him through this.”

“Sarah,” John moaned. “Leave it. I don’t want him. I-I’ll just suffer through it. You can sedate me, like we planned.”

“No, I can’t,” she said firmly. She stroked his forehead to offset her stern words. “John, it’s too late for that. You’re nearly in active heat, and I have no idea what this will do to you. You need him.” She turned her attention back to the still-stunned and cowering detective, shaking her finger at him. “He deserves so much better, but you’re what he requires at the moment, so you’re bloody well going to do this.”

She stood as the first police officers arrived on the scene. “Here! I’ve got an injured omega about to enter active heat,” she called. “I need emergency transport to a safe location. This one, too.” She waved a hand at Sherlock. “He’s the alpha.”

The young constable was reaching for his radio when Greg Lestrade’s BMW arrived. 

“Sherlock? John? I heard Dimmock’s call. Are you all right?” 

John lifted his head weakly as his friend approached. “Greg? God, am I glad to see you. I need…”

“Jesus, you’re in heat!” Greg immediately turned on Sherlock. “You stupid git. You did this, didn’t you?”

Sherlock was standing now, John’s scent and heat markers rapidly heightening his alpha instincts and eroding his conscious mind. “Get away!” he snarled in the general direction of the handful of mostly alpha coppers beginning to mill about and moved to shove Sarah away from John. “Mine!”

“NO! None of that,” Greg barked, grabbing the detective’s arms and holding him back. “Damn it, I knew something was going to come to a head, but I didn’t think…”

“What do you mean ‘you knew’?” Sarah interjected as she helped John to his feet. “Knew what?”

“Sherlock is John’s alpha — his bondmate,” Greg admitted sadly. He addressed John. “Mycroft and I talked it through on the phone tonight. He should be here soon; just got in. Anyway, he’d had his suspicions, but he had no way to confirm them. Apparently a bunch of your AOC’s bond records in long-term storage were lost in a fire eight years ago, your file included. Your service record was somewhat patchy with regard to your heats. Apparently they didn’t care when they started, so long as you were no longer having them. My didn’t want to raise expectations or cause a rift between you and Sherlock. And, I admit, he was more than a little suspicious that you might have been the party who prevented the bonding.” He looked at the omega doctor. “He was trying to protect Sherlock until he could see what kind of man you are, John.”

“Great. How’d that turn out?”

“Still cheeky,” Sarah remarked. “That’s a good sign.”

“I convinced My to let me tell you, but I guess I’m too late for that. Anyway, from what you told me, the dates do match; with the way you two connected so quickly and so easily, it fits. Sherlock has never, ever attached himself to anyone like this before. And, like you said, he’s been exhibiting possessive behaviour recently.”

John was watching the detective now, shaking his head. “But I called for him. Why…?”

“My knew Sherlock had started using right about the time of his first heat, though he thought it was after — a reaction to not having been called by his mate. But now we think…well, Mycroft thinks he may have started using to prevent bonding. He’d watched us go through a pretty rough patch, and he’d always struggled with relationships. My thinks he used cocaine to interfere with his ability to receive John’s bonding call.”

“My god!” Sarah glared at the detective in Greg’s grip. “You selfish, cruel bastard!” She looked at John and frowned. “That explains the heat. Sexual contact with your _intended_ alpha would certainly be enough to overcome the suppressants.”

“He’s MINE!” Sherlock snarled again, lunging for John who was too weak to do anything but lean heavily against Sarah.

“He _could_ have been yours 17 years ago!” Greg growled, struggling to pin the alpha against his own chest. “And we could have avoided all this!”

Sherlock was scenting the air. John watched the man for a moment, his body screaming for him to hurl himself into his alpha’s arms. 

“Why?” 

The question was so quiet in the din of emergency vehicles arriving, John wasn’t even sure Sherlock would hear him. The reply was, surprisingly, just as quiet. 

The detective blinked several times and his eyes cleared. He stared at John as the animal alpha retreated and the detective resurfaced. His face fell as realization dawned. “Oh, god, John. John, I’m sorry.” His lip quivered a little. John had never before seen him look vulnerable. Not really. 

“What for?” John asked, his voice a little broken. “Tell me, Sherlock.”

The taller man shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I was…I was frightened. I didn’t want to need anyone. To be weak enough for someone to...hurt…me the way Mycroft was hurt when he and Greg first bonded. The way I hurt when my parents and my schoolmates didn’t...” His voice shook as it trailed off. “When they didn’t want to be around me. People never...they don’t love me back, John. Not for very long.” He opened his eyes once more and looked into John’s. “I didn’t think I could survive that with my _mate_.”

“Sherlock!” 

Greg turned at the sound of his own mate’s voice. Mycroft appeared at the side of one of his trademark black saloons. He strode toward his brother, his face an icy mask. As John watched the man approach, though, he noted the sadness in the bureaucrat’s eyes. He met Greg’s knowing gaze for a moment and the DI gave a brief nod.

“I push people away before they get the chance,” Sherlock continued. John turned his attention back to the detective, who looked utterly defeated as he was transferred from Greg’s hold to his brother’s. “I’ll be a terrible alpha, John! Just look — look at what I’ve got you into! I don’t deserve…”

“Yes, you do.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. John waited patiently for it to sink in. “If I had known it was you,” the taller man muttered. “If I had known I could be with you — even for a little while — I never would have…”

John stepped away from Sarah and moved toward his alpha. Sherlock leaned down to bring his face as close to John’s as he could. “It’s what I could sense,” John said softly. “That’s what was different about you, right from that first day. “

“It’s why you couldn’t mate with another alpha,” Greg suggested softly. “Your intended was still out there.”

“You’ve been scent bonding since you met,” Mycroft confirmed. “Most likely the suppressants and the cocaine were enough to dull the connection; that along with the long distance while you were deployed would have been enough to fracture it. But once you were in close quarters, you would have attuned to his scent and even the faint markers left by your medication would have been enough to draw Sherlock to you. His body would remember your scent, or at least part of it, even if he’d blocked out the drive to seek you out. The scent bonding forced your body into an oestrus cycle. It’s likely you’ve been releasing heat markers for several days, though they may have been erratic given the suppressants you were still taking.”

“That explains Dimmock. And Wilkes,” John muttered. He nodded, swallowing hard against the desire building in his body. He needed to hold on just a little longer. He stood toe to toe with his alpha and looked directly into the crystalline eyes. “This is important, so think very carefully how you answer. Do you really want to bond with me or will you reject me again once my heat is over?”

Sherlock winced. “John, you are my only…friend. I don’t want to lose you. I’m sorry about before. I couldn’t fight my physical need for you, but I believed — I still believe — it will ruin everything. I know I will do or say something to make you leave eventually. I’m a _freak_ , remember? Like Seb said, they all hated me. You will, too, given enough time.”

“Do you love me?”

“John.” Sherlock’s voice dropped. There was a fine sheen of perspiration on his brow, evidence of his own struggle to keep a clear head in the face of the nearly irresistible urges they were both experiencing. He didn’t seem to be aware that he was straining against Mycroft’s grip. “Please.”

“I need the words, Sherlock, because I think this can work, but only if you trust that I am never going to leave — no matter what. Because I love you. And you have to be able to tell me that you love me, too.”

Sherlock’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, his chin rising. “Yes,” he blurted raggedly. “Yes, I love you. More than I believed was possible; more than I think is advisable.”

“And?” John prompted gently.

Sherlock’s eyes began to glaze over once more — he was losing his battle against instinct. “You’re mine. _Mine_.”

John smile was a little crooked. “Good.” He fell forward, limp. His last thought before losing consciousness was that his alpha’s arms would be there to catch him.

And they were.


	12. Eventuating eventualities, or...destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mating habits of long-separated lovers.

John roused again. They were no longer moving.

He vaguely remembered being swept into Sherlock’s arms and carried to Mycroft’s car.

It was an impressive feat, really. He was not a tall man, but he was a solidly built former soldier. It spoke to the extent of Sherlock’s mating frenzy — his adrenaline levels were so high already that he’d lifted John as though he weighed almost nothing.

John had continued to doze, but he hadn’t completely lost consciousness again. Sherlock had set about scenting him in the car, touching him everywhere, jostling him as he sought to commit every part of John’s body to memory even through his clothes. 

It was for the best. In spite of the descending fog of his heat, John could recall that he had a head injury courtesy of the Black Lotus. He’d need to stay awake, just in case.

He wasn’t entirely sure where they were (he’d missed that bit) but he’d been laid out on a huge bed in a dimly lit room. He couldn’t help sighing happily at the overwhelming scent of his alpha all around him.

John turned his head; Sherlock stood very nearby rapidly dispensing with his clothing. The long dark coat hit the floor, followed immediately by his suit jacket. Buttons flew as his shirt was torn open and discarded. John stretched out a hand weakly, wishing he could reach to stroke the alabaster skin as it was revealed.

Sherlock was even more beautiful than he’d imagined.

There was a snorting noise from his alpha. John looked up into his mate’s face. “No.”

John realized dimly that he must have spoken the words aloud. And an alpha would not want to be beautiful. No, an alpha was…

“Strong,” John breathed. “So clever.”

This earned a grunt of approval. Sherlock had removed the rest of his clothes and was now straddling John on the king-sized bed. “ _Mine_.” His tone was very gentle, yet unequivocal.

Sherlock bent and buried his nose once more in the hollow of John’s neck, huffing the omega scent markers and lapping at the sensitive skin. John mewled, content to turn his head and offer his throat to his mate.

His intended. His Sherlock.

There was a possessive rumble above him and John sighed. His body was on fire, his cock throbbing and his bottom saturated with need. He wanted to be taken. He wanted to take. He wanted to bond.

“Fuck me,” he begged, tangling his fingers in Sherlock’s hair. “Please. Fill me. Knot me.”

Sherlock retreated enough for John to see the concentration on his alpha’s face, his eyes dark with lust. “Yes,” the man agreed, his voice so deep John could barely make it out.

Sherlock bent once more, this time to capture John’s mouth. John responded greedily, teasing at Sherlock’s tongue with his own. They licked and sucked at each other while John allowed his fingertips to graze over the surface of his lover’s heated skin. It was smooth, firm. 

John slid a hand between them to tease the fine dusting of hair on Sherlock’s chest as he’d imagined doing. He slipped his fingers through the strands and practically purred with pleasure. 

Sherlock released his mouth and sat back on his heels. He watched John for a moment, his head inclined to one side. John was panting now, his trousers damp in front and soaked in back, and his cock rigid with anticipation. 

“Please,” John whispered. “Please.”

Sherlock growled, ruthlessly attacking John’s clothing. He was careful not to hurt John, but the same could not be said for the shreds of fabric he tossed over the side of the bed.

Inch by inch, John was revealed to his alpha once more. There was a fluttering of self-consciousness this time — he was not 20 as he should have been when they bonded. And he was scarred now. Damaged.

He must have looked away because he felt a finger beneath his chin forcing him to look Sherlock in the eye.

“ _Mine_ ,” Sherlock repeated forcefully, his lovely eyes shining. “My mate.”

John’s chest swelled. He smiled at his alpha, content. He reached up to pull Sherlock back to him for another desperate kiss. The wildness in Sherlock’s eyes receded somewhat. A crooked smile formed and he lowered his mouth to claim John’s.

John felt glorious and utterly powerful as Sherlock slid down to stretch out over him. His body was so warm, so sensitive; every touch, every caress caused a new flood of slick. Naked, pressed into the mattress with Sherlock’s weight above him, John was practically squirming as Sherlock began to kiss and mark him.

He tried to shift them both, to roll over and present, but Sherlock held him still, pinning his arms over his head in one hand. John probably could have freed himself if he were so inclined. He was not.

Sherlock proceeded to taste him tenderly first: cheeks, neck, shoulders and then…

John hissed as the man bit down into the taught flesh of his tricep. The teeth were immediately replaced with a laving tongue and hard suction. John flinched a little but did not pull away as this process was repeated several times on both sides: biceps, triceps, shoulders and pectorals. Finally, the alpha relented, softening his mouth as he dragged his tongue across John’s chest.

John moaned as Sherlock claimed his nipple, flicking first with the tip of his tongue and then covering to suck hard. John arched up into the man.

“ _Sherlock_!”

His mate did not reply but simply repeated the action on the opposite side, this time adding to the torment by rubbing his body gently over John’s straining cock.

“Oh, please,” John begged. “God, fuck me. Need you inside me, please!’

The lovely mouth that had captivated John right from the beginning continued to move. Sherlock was staking his claim on every inch of John’s body, and John wanted it, too — loved the marks the alpha was leaving on him that would remind him for days afterward of their first mating. But the pressure in his belly had reached a point of near pain. And he was so very, very empty.

John struggled against the hands pinning his own to the bed. “Sherlock, please!”

The fingers eased instantly and John wrenched free to grasp at his mate’s shoulders. He ground his throbbing prick into Sherlock’s body while the man continued his instinctive ritual. The tongue circled his navel; sweet, wet kisses covered his belly. The hot mouth traced the line of his iliac crest. And then…

“FUCK!” John’s fingers twisted into Sherlock’s hair as the man swallowed him down. John panted desperately as his alpha ruthlessly sucked his cock.

“Oh, god…please…you don’t…” John lost the ability to form words as two fingers slipped gently inside his leaking hole. He thrashed, knees pulled wide and feet flat on the mattress to open himself wide.

Sherlock flicked at the head of his cock and then drew him back in. He bobbed and sucked while his graceful digits twisted and stretched inside John, pressing deeper, then withdrawing a little and curling to seek….

“SHERLOCK!” John howled as Sherlock bumped over his prostate. “Please, oh, god, I need you inside me. NOW!”

Finally his alpha relented. He pulled his fingers from John’s body with a satisfying squelch and placed one final kiss to the tip of John’s penis. Then, with shaking hands, he grasped John’s hips and turned the shorter man over onto his belly.

John groaned, so long and so loud it made his throat burn. He massaged his cock into the textured surface of the bedspread before lifting his bottom into the air. He spread his knees and pulled them up beneath him to shift his dripping entrance up toward his alpha.

Sherlock did not delay now. He rubbed the head of his thick, leaking alpha cock over John’s saturated anus and then grabbed a handful of John’s arse. He squeezed the flesh firmly as he began to ease himself inside his omega’s body.

John was nearly sobbing with want — he could not control it. He cried out into the bedclothes, his hands fisted in the heavy brocade, as Sherlock’s cock began to split him in two.

“Jesus…fuck!” Sherlock was so much larger inside him than he’d seemed in his mouth. And it had been such a long time…

Sherlock stilled. John looked over his shoulder to find his heat-frenzied alpha looking lost. John’s breath hitched as he remembered that Sherlock was almost as new to mating as he would have been at 16.

“Don’t stop. Please,” John coaxed shakily. “It’s okay. Sherlock, I need you.”

“I can’t hurt you…I won’t.”

John very nearly broke at the reassuring words. He reached behind him to grab the long-fingered hand from his hip. Sherlock fell forward and covered John’s back as John dragged the hand roughly to his mouth, covering it with kisses. “My love, my alpha, my mate. Not hurting me, not really…it feels so good. It’s just new. Please, don’t stop.” 

The alpha huffed, stroking at John’s side, but John could feel the heavy member still throbbing just inside his body, breaching the tight rings of muscle and stretching the softly puckered entrance. Sherlock was painfully aroused, so much so that he trembled with the effort of restraint.

“Make me yours, Sherlock,” John prompted softly. He tightened his passage as best he could around his mate inside him. “I want it, so very badly.”

Sherlock whined with need. Finally he mumbled his agreement, briefly inhaling at John’s neck before straightening. He returned both hands to John’s waist as his hips eased forward. 

Sherlock moved slowly, giving his mate time to adjust to his girth, and slid his free hand over the smooth flesh of John’s back. John shivered. “Shhhhh,” Sherlock soothed, sounding more confident. “Easy.”

John gasped then groaned once more as Sherlock slid in another inch or so.

“Easy, my John,” Sherlock rumbled. He pulled back and began to shallow thrust to continue to allow John’s body to adjust. “My John,” he groaned. “So tight. So hot…”

John was trying to reach his prick now, fumbling beneath his own body. Sherlock seemed to understand. He reached around and captured his mate’s erection, stroking slowly. 

Finally, John could feel his body easing around the huge member and he pushed back into Sherlock’s gentle thrusts. Sherlock began to press in once more. 

John swore and muttered incoherently as the remainder of Sherlock’s cock slid inside him. He sighed with relief as he felt the man’s balls against his arse cheeks.

Sherlock grunted his satisfaction as he rolled his hips into John’s bottom. He teased at John’s fraenulum then released his cock to fondle his sac. 

“Move, oh, god please!” John rasped. He keened at the stimulation as well as the stretch and the burn that were already receding. They were quickly replaced with a satisfying fullness and the spine-tingling craving for friction over his body’s internal pleasure points. “More!”

Sherlock withdrew slowly (oh, god, so slowly), fingers back to digging into John’s hips as he slid home once more. The alpha made a strangled noise as he was buried inside John again, his rapidly swelling knot teasing at the perimeter of his omega’s hole.

John pressed hard into his mate’s body. He moaned as the sweat-dampened chest descended to press into his back once more. “Sherlock…”

Sherlock’s body remained somewhat draped over John’s as he began to piston in and out of his omega’s welcoming body. John moved into each thrust, desperate for more, eager to be filled to his limit.

“Mine,” Sherlock growled.

“Yours,” John panted. “Always.”

John jolted and his arms weakened as Sherlock managed to stimulate his sensitive glands. “Oh, god, oh, god, fuck, Sherlock. So good.”

Sherlock fucked him hard, repeating the angle that had given him such pleasure. John was gasping for air, so close to the precipice that his vision had narrowed. He didn’t want to black out — didn’t want to miss a moment.

“I want your knot,” he begged. “Give it…to me.”

“Yes,” Sherlock growled. “Knot you.”

John could feel the swelling testing his already stretched hole. He bit his lip as it pushed against his opening with every thrust.

“Wha —”

John started as he was suddenly pulled back, strong hands bracing him from the centre of his chest as he was drawn up almost onto his heels into Sherlock’s lap. 

“Oh, fuck, yes, my love,” he choked out, clasping the strong hands that pinned his back to Sherlock’s chest as the man continued to pump in and out of his body.

“Mine,” Sherlock groaned in his ear. “MINE!”

John shouted as the distended knot popped through the barrier and wedged inside him. He writhed, fighting a little against the painful intrusion that stung but felt so fucking good it drove the breath from his lungs. Sherlock held him fast, arms tightening as he bent his head to sink his teeth into John’s neck.

John came, shattering into a million pieces as he was filled and emptied simultaneously — his own cock streaking the expensive bedding beneath them while his alpha pulsed inside him. The knot pinned him in place for the tender onslaught; Sherlock’s strong arms comforted even as his teeth broke the skin over John’s scent gland to leave the bonding mark.

John sobbed, repeating his mate’s name over and over. He clung to his alpha, his head lolling to the side to allow the man access to his bondsite.

This, then, was it. This final primitive act, the completion of an ancient dance and the fulfilment of years of just getting by — this was what he’d missed. 

“I love you,” John breathed, his hips undulating with the rhythm of the gentle pulsing that rocked the knot inside him. “I love you, Sherlock. Jesus, I love you so much.”

The teeth were withdrawn; tender lips and tongue were applied to the wound in their place. Sherlock’s body shuddered against John as he kissed a trail over John’s shoulder and then back up over his ear. John turned his face toward his mate.

Sherlock kissed the wound at his temple and then claimed his mouth — open and achingly tender. One hand slithered up from John’s chest to cup the opposite cheek, to hold John in place. John laid his own hand on Sherlock’s cheek, surprised to find it damp.

“What’s this?” he murmured. He searched the man’s face for a sign. Sherlock’s eyes were focussed, but now shimmering with tears. The first fire of heat that had overpowered them both had faded a little.

“So much wasted time.” Sherlock’s voice was gruff, broken. “I’ve wasted so much time I could have spent with you.”

“Shhh, no. Don’t, love…”

“I have been so alone.”

“So have I,” John soothed, stroking his lover’s face. He let his head rest against Sherlock’s brow.

“And I did that,” Sherlock said miserably. “We could have had this so long ago. I could have had you, all this time. You have suffered and it is my fault….oh, fuck…”

They both gasped as Sherlock came again, his knot swelling against John’s inner walls as he flooded the omega with come.

John was panting, his cock already hardening, as the orgasm passed. He murmured gently to Sherlock as he drew the man forward with him. He brought them both to the bed, gently rolling to his side with both of Sherlock’s legs between his own.

Sherlock buried his face in John’s hair. John pulled one of the man’s arms from around his chest to wrap it around his shoulders. He pulled it tight around himself and dragged his fingertips back and forth over Sherlock’s forearm.

“We are not going to do this,” John said softly, feeling much clearer himself now that the urge to bond had passed. “The past is done.”

“But…”

“No,” John said firmly. “We start from the day we met at Bart’s.”

Sherlock moaned through another orgasm, mouthing at the back of John’s neck. He slid has free hand back to John’s half-mast cock.

“How — how can you forgive me?”

“Because I love you, daft git,” John chuckled. “I am more myself with you than I ever have been…oh…my love. _There_.” He canted his hips toward Sherlock’s deft fingers as far as he could without straining the knot inside him. “I love you…and I know this is how we were meant to be. Just like this.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you,” John whispered. He bit his lip as Sherlock thumbed over his dribbling slit. “Tell me? Please?”

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered into John’s ear. “I don’t deserve you, but I will try.”

John shook as his body was wracked by another orgasm. He shouted his mate’s name as Sherlock filled him once more.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's done is done.

The sun rose over the London skyline while John watched, peeking over his mate’s body through the huge windows of what was clearly a hotel room. A very modern, expensive, high-end hotel room.

It had been more than two days. John was exhausted, sticky and sore, but utterly gratified — he’d never imagined love could be like this.

After the last round, Sherlock had turned John in his arms and pulled him into a fierce embrace. John had buried his face in Sherlock’s chest and wrapped a leg around the lean hips. There they remained as they waited for the next wave.

“Sherlock,” John asked softly. “Where are we?”

“Hmmm?” Sherlock was groggy, clearly having dozed off. “Oh. The Shard,” he drawled as he stretched a little beneath John. “Hotel isn’t open yet, but Mycroft…”

“Right,” John smirked to himself. “Privilege.”

“And privacy,” Sherlock added. “No one within eight floors of us, with the exception of a small security detail.”

John shivered and wriggled a little closer to Sherlock’s warmth. The sweat on their bodies had dried and cooled and they seemed to be getting a little longer break. Without a word, Sherlock reached behind him for the long edge of the bedspread, from where it had been discarded, and pulled it over them.

“Thank you.”

Sherlock hummed, placing a series of kisses over John’s brow.

“I was just wondering…” John began.

“What is it?”

“Are you…disappointed?” John asked softly. “About not having children?”

“No.”

“Just no?”

“Just no,” Sherlock repeated. “You are all I need; more than I ever thought I would have.”

“But…”

“Just _no_ ,” Sherlock repeated firmly. He slipped his hand beneath the covers to stroke John’s thigh.

John allowed this to settle, weighing his conviction about Sherlock’s inability to prevaricate to spare someone’s feelings against his own insecurities.

“Stop thinking,” Sherlock rasped. He moved his other hand from John’s back and slid his fingers into the omega’s cleft. He stroked over his come- and slick-saturated entrance, circling and massaging so lightly John wanted to cry. “It’s annoying.”

“I love you,” John breathed, his body warming to his alpha’s touch.

Sherlock huffed. “I know that.” He teased one finger inside his mate’s body. 

John gasped at the tender intrusion. “I — oh, god — I would like to have a bonding celebration.”

“Why?” Sherlock’s voice was incredulous.

“Because I…I — fuck, Sherlock, right, oh god —” John’s breath hitched as Sherlock unerringly found his prostate. “Because I am — oh, god — so happy. I-I want everyone to know.”

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully, nuzzling into John’s hair. “Will I be required to wear something ridiculous?”

“Possibly.”

There was a long silence, save for the sounds of John’s growing arousal due to his mate’s attentions.

Finally Sherlock spoke, his fingers still teasing at John’s hole. “I would like my nephew to stand up with me. He’s far less obnoxious than my brother — probably Lestrade’s influence.”

John grinned so hard he thought his face might crack. He kissed a trail up to Sherlock’s neck and pressed his nose into the source of his alpha’s scent. Sherlock responded by adding a second and third finger to John’s arse. John moaned brokenly, clinging to Sherlock as the man finger-fucked him.

“And you?” Sherlock teased, prompting John to tilt his chin up to look the man in the eye. 

“M-Mike…mmmm, later — I need, love, please…”

Sherlock kissed him soundly and rolled him onto his back. The alpha settled himself between John’s thighs and hooked his mate’s legs around his ribs.

“Missionary? Are you sure?” John asked, grinning. “We have done this already, and there are lots of other things we can try.”

“I have lived without seeing your face for 17 years,” Sherlock said firmly. “Now, I —” The man swallowed hard. “I just want to watch you as you come, as I am connected to you. Please.”

John melted instantly, pulling the man forward and stretching up to meet him for a messy kiss. At length, he lay back against the pillows and ran his hands over his mate’s chest. 

“Go on, then, my love,” he murmured. “I’m all yours.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I do not own the characters, etc., and I do not profit in any way. Cheers!


	14. Cover art

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Price of Freedom, The Value of Ties](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014936) by [Radclyffe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radclyffe/pseuds/Radclyffe)




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